


Meet me in the crossroads

by murasaki_gyps_eng (murasaki_gyps)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Anal Sex, Body Modification, Eventual Smut, Fingering, First Kiss, Genderfluid Georgi Popovich, Mutual Pining, Non Binary Christophe Giacometti, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Michele Crispino/Katsuki Yuuri, Oral Sex, Other, Side Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov - Freeform, Side Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino, Slow Burn, Smut, past Georgi Popovich/Anya - Freeform, past Mila Babicheva/Georgi Popovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murasaki_gyps/pseuds/murasaki_gyps_eng
Summary: "Michele's still processing the disturbing effects of listening to their deep voice, when the Waning Moon smiles and fully opens their eyelids and he can finally see them. Two sharp and beautiful eyes glint under the moonlight and the silver light emphasise even more their colour. Michele has never seen a more intense shade of blue: he could recite lyric poems about how one look in those deep blue irises is enough to drown, as if they were deeper and wilder than the ocean in the darkest hour of the night; he could write an entire epic poem, comparing those eyes to the night sky and narrating all the mysteries hidden behind the black circle of those pupils."There was a time in which the Universe was still young and Deities had chosen the Earth as their home, using their powers to create and bring order, instead of destroying. Michele's one of them - one of the brightest and most arrogant sons of the Day - and he's fully convinced the offspring of Darkness can only bring along chaos and despair, wherevere they go. Then, one night, he meets Georgij and his strong beliefs start to crumble under a deep blue gaze that brings the chaos right inside his mind.





	1. #1: The Crossroad

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: this fic should've consisted of only ONE chapter and should've been published way back in May. It was (it still is) a fic written for the seventh day prompt of [hTe Popoweek](https://popoweek.tumblr.com/) (yes, it's virtually still valid to fill the prompts of that fest, LOL), "The Witch".
> 
> Then things happened, a lot of things, and now this fic is five chapters and more than 30K long so... here it is. It's a story set in an alternate universe where the characters of YOI are all loosely based on deities of the Greek mythology: Georgij is Hecate, Michele is Apollo, Sara is Artemis and so on. I'll add characters and warnings as the story proceeds but I already set the rating as "explicit" because the last chapter is, well, EXPLICIT since SMUT WILL HAPPEN (and here I go and spoiler my own stories again, sigh...).  
> For what concerns the characters in this chapter, obviously some of their powers/characteristics are based on what those gods/goddesses represented in the Greek mythology. As for Georgij, in this AU this character is genderfluid (and I'll use they/them pronouns for the whole narration), since Hecate was technically a goddess but in the myth she was also associated with borders - a "liminal goddess" - especially the borders between the world of the living and the Underworld. So, I decided to extend this characteristic to Georgij's gender identity as Hecate -and, in general, some deities in this universe aren't exclusively cis males or cis females (Christophe's Eros, here, and is non-binary, for an example).
> 
> I really wish this will be a pleasant reading, I really, really love Crispovich and it was both particularly challenging and satisfying to write something so complex - hope you'll enjoy it, see you in the next chapter~!

_There's a pain_    
_A famine in your heart_    
_An aching to be free_    
**_(Halo | Depeche Mode)_**

“Ah, I hate night-time, everything is so damn cold!”.

“You didn't have to come, you know?”.

Michele frowns, his face crumpled into an expression of discomfort, upon his sister’s scolding tone but not even her harsh words are enough to stop him. He looks at Sara, simply glorious in her short – maybe _too short_ – tunic, the white linen that brings out her olive complexion, more characteristic of a creature of the Day, rather than one of the tree Deities of the Moon.

She’s all taut muscles and focused gazes, while she roams the secret paths of the forest, that unravel only before her amethyst eyes. Michele wraps himself up more in the purple himation draped over his shoulders in an attempt to shield his body from the harsh cold of the night: Hemera, the Day, is his realm, it’s the Sun that encloses his power, that power that comes in the form of his bright light but he's still the twin brother of the Crescent Moon. It’s not difficult for him to follow his sister in her night hunts, he’s so fast that his naked feet barely touch the soft texture of the damp undergrowth.

For Sara it's different: her sandals plunge into the rich soil of the forest and the low, spongy bushes, that flourish in the soothing darkness of the night, while the nocturnal inhabitants of those places – vigilant owls and indolent dormice clung to the tallest branches of the trees, secretive foxes and sleepless deer peeping through the leaves of the lowest branches and luxuriant shrubs – pay their homages to their queen, bowing their heads at her passage.

“Why are they looking at me like that? What’s their problem?!” Michele snorts, noticing how those same animals raise up their heads and stare at his figure, and Sara giggles, long, dark hair lightly fluttering around her shoulders.

“It's your light, Michele. You know, it’s night, they’re not quite used to see the physical embodiment of Sunlight walking between them at this hour… you’re disturbing them!” she jokes and Michele sulks, looking more closely at them. He finally sees _it_ , in the glossy and colourful eyes of two frowning owls, the reflection of his natural aura, a dazzling dance of flames.

“Oh, well… They have to deal with it. I would’ve liked to rest, instead of going out in the middle of the night but, you know… someone here _loves_ to make friends with the wrong people!”.

Sara rolls her eyes and lets out a tired sigh, briefly touching the belt of her quiver. Would it be _that wrong_ to to stick one of her wooden arrows in his brother’s calf and run _away_? They're both Deities, it shouldn't hurt him too much and he would heal very quickly…

“What… Oh, for the love of Nyx, I’ve already told you. They're the Deity of the Waning Moon, they have power over things not even I can control, they help me and… They're quite funny and interesting! Now that I think about it… It’s good that you decided to follow me, maybe you two can become friends!”.

“ _And you_ _will_ _leave me alone_ ” she thinks, without saying it out loud but, “Oh, please, I’m the Sun, I’m perfectly fine on my own!” Michele brags, destroying his sister’s hopes in a single sentence.

“And… just to be clear… I don't need to make friends with… a member of Nyx’s offspring,” he explains, a sudden shift in his voice and a hint of concern in his sharp, amethyst eyes.

He's not jealous – well, _not too much_ – but he's concerned: The Realm of Night is a strange place, full of very strange people, and he's still quite unaware of all the secrets that creep in the silence of her dark womb. The universe is still young, as they are, and the beings who inhabit the Earth, that place they claimed as their home, are even younger and more inexperienced. Sun and Moon have been there since a very long time, before the wet and fertile soil of Mother Earth raised from the waves of Chaos, and the Ocean was still an undefined expanse of silence and darkness. They needed some time – eons and eons, to be fair – to develop their consciences, to become aware they were more than capricious masses of energy and power, free of creating and destroying the pliable matter of Cosmos as they wanted.

They needed rules, they needed some sort of education, that they deduced while learning how to feel compassion and awe for the inferior creatures who were getting out of the mud of their past experiments, creatures who were not their direct descendants but searched for their presence like sunflowers search for his light. Humans, too, had to learn and make rules, but their reasons were quite different: they needed rules in order to survive, while Deities created rules in order to _make that universe survive_ and not succumb into Chaos again. Humans could learn only by watching and observing the world that surrounded them with their limited senses: Knowledge was something they could acquire only searching _outside_ of their minds. Deities… they already possessed the complete knowledge of their existence inside themselves. They already knew the true meaning – or, better, the complete lack of it – of the universe in which they lived. They had to look for their knowledge in the endless folds of their immortal minds and only their growing consciences could help them in their task.

Deities can know everything about their powers but since their powers are not limitless, they will never know every aspect of the _entire reality_. Light arrived after a long period of darkness and turmoils, when nothing had a shape and Chaos and Mother Earth followed different paths; they were both secluded in nonsensical worlds made of vortexes and of the limited perception of their own existence in something that wasn't space and wasn't subjected to time. Then something – Eros, that untameable lust for life and for creating new lives – hatched in the creases of that endless darkness and things started to happen.

Michele doesn't remember the time that was before and outside their understanding and doesn't even want to learn about it. He fears darkness and the obscure things that creep and grow inside it. Not all Deities love Order and rules, after all. The offspring of Nyx revels in the night and live in shadows not even his bright light can touch and dissipate. He can't know them, he doesn't want to _understand_ the meaning behind their existence… and he would like Sara not to befriend them. She brings her light into the merciless darkness of Nyx, it's more than enough, why does she have to follow the darkest paths of the forest? Why doesn't she fear what lives and thrives in the shadows?

He knows he can't stop her – Sara is strong and powerful and has always chosen for herself without letting him interfere with her decisions – but he's worried about her safety: Deities are immortal but if they use their powers, they can hurt each other pretty badly and, even worse, what if Sara let those creatures manipulate her and chose to follow them and stray from the path of Hemera? He feels a haunting presence that surrounds her like a malicious aura, a lingering impression that coils around her wrists and ankles like a hungry snake made of smoke and shadows. He doesn't like it, there's something inexplicable in that presence and he wants to know more, he wants to understand who talks with and touches his sister every night with such fondness to leave their marks all over her… _how dare they_ _touch her, in the first place?!_

“Oh, here we are, this is their favourite place! They like crossroads a lot, this one in particular”.

Sara’s clear voice interrupts his train of thought and Michele shakes his head, focusing on her taut arm and the place she's pointing at with her index finger. The path they’ve followed until this moment meanders out of the borders of the forest, a straight way paved by big, square tiles of stone – the blackness of the tuff almost translucent under the light of a waning moon – and it ends its route, intersecting two other roads, that cut in three the wild nothing of the open country. 

In the exact centre of that crossroad stands a marble altar – from that distance Michele can barely see it, because someone is sitting on it in a crouched pose on the top of the base, where a statue should be. It's an eerie figure, cloaked in black and blue clothes that look like a star-dotted sky and covers even their head. There's someone else talking with them, though, and Michele tenses up, while walking towards them: it's a ghost, the soul of a young man. He can easily recognise his state by the pale look on his face, his figure is an inconsistent and almost transparent shadow. He's crying… they’re both crying, the mortal soul and the deity sitting in front of him.

Michele can't see their face – they’re covering their eyes with a hand – and, “No, wait, don't interrupt them… they’re in the middle of a difficult task, I see… let's wait here,” Sara warns him, grabbing his wrist before he can make another step. Michele purses his lips but doesn't move, draping his himation over his head, suddenly too self-conscious of how much his light stands out in that uncomfortable darkness.

And so, they wait. The sobbing is the first thing that reaches his ears, both figures shaking quietly under the weight of an inextinguishable sorrow, and then, “I’m so sorry for you,” a voice says and Michele shivers a little. That's not the kind of voice you hear every day: it’s too deep, too hoarse, there’re the rumbling waves of Tartarus trapped in the bottom of their throat. It sounds like something that doesn't belong to the Realm of the Living Things.

“But don't be afraid, my friend, you’ll meet them again, in a not so distant future, I swear”.

The Deity of the Waning Moon finally lowers their hand and Michele can have a full view of their face: high cheekbones, harsh features, a man complexion as pale as the milky moonlight that’s caressing their figure, black tears drawing rivers over his skin. He can't see their eyes, though, hidden under half-closed eyelids and long, dark eyelashes.

“I know you already miss your loved ones but there's a new life that wait for you in the Underworld… you will meet again the ones you thought you wouldn’t see anymore, my dear, sad soul… and I can show you the path to that place, so, you won't be lost anymore”.

The Waning Moon stretches their lilac-tinted lips in a compassionate smile and the young man sobs more quietly, looking at them with a glint of hope in his vacuous eyes. Long, slender fingers caress his head and Michele watches the scene with a puzzled look: only some Deities have the privilege to touch mortal souls and they're all related to the Underworld – and Michele doubts they have a benevolent attitude, of course.

“Do you want me to show you the path? You were a righteous man, I can know it just by looking at you… there’s definitely a place for you in the Elysian Fields!”.

Michele's still processing the disturbing effects of listening to their deep voice, when the Waning Moon smiles and fully opens their eyelids and he can finally _see them_. Two sharp and beautiful eyes glint under the moonlight and the silver light emphasise even more their colour. Michele has never seen a more intense shade of blue: he could recite lyric poems about how one look in those deep blue irises is enough to drown, as if they were deeper and wilder than the ocean in the darkest hour of the night; he could write an entire epic poem, comparing those eyes to the night sky and narrating all the mysteries hidden behind the black circle of those pupils.

Then the eyes suddenly change their colour, a thin, milky veil covering them, while the deity’s gaze becomes distant and there's nothing compassionate or sweet in their features anymore. The long, pale fingers – ghostly like contorted dead branches – rip the impalpable curtain of reality apart and for a moment Sara and Michele can see the evanescent Realm of the Underworld overlapping with the layer of their Realm – the Realm of All the Living Things.

There’s a new path, now, that crosses the trivia, a path that leads to an opening in the ground, a doorway made of black-marbled pillars. The effigy of a three-headed dog looms over the jamb but Michele doesn't even care that he's watching one of the thresholds to the Underworld. His whole attention is focused on the Waning Moon’s figure, now towering above the mortal soul they’re helping, their muscular arms, the tensed line of their jaw, their skin emanating the same, faint and milky glow that surrounds the moon high in the night sky.

“The Witch? You… You befriended the Witch, Sara?!”.

Michele can't help but let out a muffled scream, while looking at his sister in horror… no, it's not horror, it's the feeling of the Unknown that makes him shiver in fear. There are things not even the light of the Sun can illuminate: the Waning Moon seems to embody all of them… and they must have a very good hearing, since they turn their gaze in his direction the exact moment he hisses those words.

They don't move, though, since they're still consolingly the human soul besides them, showing him the way and reassuring him that he soon won't be lost anymore. There's something warm and bright in their tone, now, but Michele can still feel the endless darkness that their voice brings along. The feeling is still lingering at the bottom of his chest, when the mortal soul finally accepts his fate and crosses the doorway, soon fading into the darkness of the Underworld. This time the Waning Moon simply raises their hand and makes a gesture, like they’re lowering a curtain, and the Realm of the Living Things is whole again, while the shadows of the Other Realm are not visible anymore, remaining only in Michele’s mind.

“Sara! My beautiful huntress of chamois! What brings you here? Did you find a new, hidden path? Or maybe a deer tried to escape from your lethal arrows?”.

Before Michele can say anything, Sara sprints toward the Waning Moon and jumps into their open arms… strong arms that the sleeveless tunic leaves completely uncovered, Michele can clearly see their muscles flexing, while they heartily hug his sister and he’s not quite sure anymore if he doesn't want them to touch Sara or he's actually jealous because they're not embracing his waist…

Preposterous.

“Oh, no, this is more like a… courtesy visit, you know? Michele… my brother, here… really… really… really wanted to meet you! He was curious… yes, curious to meet you, since I’ve been talking a lot about the help you’re giving me, lately”.

Sara is still in their embrace, while she chats with the Waning Moon with that kind of familiarity one would save for a sibling. Michele would like to protest, because she’s casually touching their wide chest and she’s not leaving their hug, not even when she turns and, “Georgij, this is my brother, Michele… you know, the one who illuminates the Earth during the day,” she nonchalantly explains, pointing at him with a gesture of her dark, long fingers.

“Oh, that explains the sudden surge of light! It almost pierced my eyes! You really like to show you’re glowing, uh?” Georgij utters, stretching their lips in a soft smile, and that gentle, lilac curve leaves a stinging pain in the middle of the Michele’s chest. The God of Sun clutches his himation, suddenly too self-conscious about his lack of control over his immeasurable powers.

“And… you really like to show you’re a witch, I presume!” he hisses and can distinctly hear the clapping sound of Sara facepalming very hard at his predictable burst of anger. For a moment the God of Sun fears that Georgij could feel offended by his remark but, instead, they cover their lips with the back of their hand in an affected gesture and start laughing. It's a low and roaring laughter, that shakes them from their head to the tip of their toes and make them arch their back in a contorted pose, before Georgij rights themselves and wipes away the tears from their eyes.

“Please, I’m not a simple witch, I’m the Deity of the Witchcraft, the Supreme Ruler of the Spirits and the Tender-Hearted Companion of the Dead… and, of course, I’m the Waning Moon”.

They take an imperious bow, all fluttering garments and proud gazes, and Sara is on the verge of laughter but then she takes a closer look at her brother. He’s not laughing at all: his face is a bright shade of red and his eyes are sparkling with embarrassment, while he looks at the newfound deity in awe and rage. His confusion dissipates quickly and he stands upright again, before boasting with his loudest tone, “Oh, yes, I see… and I’m the God of Arts, the Undisputed Leader of the Muses, the Bright Bringer of Knowledge and the True Voice of the First Oracle… and, of _fucking_ course, I’m the Sun”.

Michele’s short temper is well-known both among gods and humans but his talent with words is even more renowned. Sometimes, though, his bad temper greatly overcomes his silver tongue and he ends up talking _too much_ , so, he can't help but look them from head to toe and utter, “But humans call you ‘Queen of Spirits’… I thought you were like Sara, but you are…”.

“Both”.

The answer is spelled in unison by Sara and Georgij and Michele looks at them in confusion. They finally break their embrace and the Waning Moon casts a condescending gaze at him, before nodding and starting to speak again.

“Humans first met me in my female form. They know about my dual nature but they address me as a goddess, because they think witchcraft is something… strictly feminine, how naïve!”.

They laugh, again, and Michele shivers lightly under the weight of that deep voice that seems to shake the foundations of his whole being. Georgij is now closer to him and he can notice more accurately their features: when he first noticed them from the distance, embroidered in their long tunic and dark garments, Michele thought they were an eerie woman. Then they stepped closer and he – or his strong jealousy, at least – made up his mind and was definitely convinced Georgij was a man. Looking at them now, he's starting to understand what that “both” means: they're not the first Deity he meets that possesses more than one nature – not every god is like him and Sara, some of them, like Love, have multiple natures, even.

“Humans sometimes tend to simplify some matters too much… so, how do you want to be called…” he stops, pondering carefully the next words on the tip of his tongue.

There’s something else in Georgij that he’s not able to define and not even his keen Eyesight can help him clear up the dark cloud that surrounds their figure: it's like an eerie presence that creeps under their skin; the more Georgij reduces the gap between them, the more Michele can feel it even over _his_ skin, like spiders crawling up his arms and his back, like a buzzing noise that threatens to shut down every other sound.

“Right now, I usually prefer to be in my male form but, you know, you can do like Sara and the other Deities and acknowledge both of my natures at once, uh?”.

And then Georgij touches him.

It's not an intimate touch, there’re only the fingertips of their index and middle finger against the Sun’s solar plexus, but it's enough for Michele to _feel_ a strange cold and the weightless brush of voices and gazes that don’t belong to the Waning Moon, slick tentacles that coil around his arms and neck and threaten to reach the middle of his chest and his own heart.

Michele winces and before he can even control his reactions, he grabs their wrist and freezes again. There's something around Georgij that he’s not able to properly define, but now that he can touch their naked skin he can almost _see_ it: it's something that goes beyond the manifestation of their powers, something he can’t even start to imagine and he's not even sure if he wants to understand it or avoid it completely.

“But I’m baffled… You possess the Eyesight of the Oracle, I thought you wouldn't need to meet me, in order to ascertain my existence… I thought you already knew, somehow…”.

Georgij’s voice echoes in his eardrums and under his skin and the more he holds their wrist, the more he feels their aura mixing up with his own. He doesn't loosen his grip, though, and inhales deeply, before opening his eyes and uttering, “I saw, indeed, something in my dreams but they were very… confused. You, children of Nyx like so much to live in the shadows, sometimes it's almost impossible to understand you!”.

He finally lets go of their wrist with a note of irritation in his voice but Georgij smiles again – and this time Michele swears there's a mischievous glint in their deep, blue eyes.

“Have you cleared your mind, then?”.

The Waning Moon’s fingers are still against his chest, when Michele shakes his head. He could tell them to mind their own business but, instead, he looks right back at them and exclaims, “It's still too dark for me to understand what kind of Deity you are… and I want to be sure that Sara isn't in danger, when you're around her!”.

Sara puffs loudly, folding her arms across her chest and Michele knows, before she can say anything, he can't control her movements, so, his claim has no basis. He insists, because he's determined to unravel that puzzling mystery that stands in front of him with a sardonic grin on their thin, lilac-tinted lips.

“I don't roam the surface during the day, God of Sun, it's too bright for me” they start, a trace of sarcasm in their words, but then Georgij soften their smile and adds, “But during the night… you can find me almost _everywhere_ ”.

“Well… ‘everywhere’ is an overly broad definition…” Michele quickly replies, casting a puzzled gaze at them.

He's waiting to receive an explanation but he shouldn't be so eager to know what are the places the Waning Moon usually frequents. But his stomach drops the instant Georgij reaches for him and whispers in a husky tone, “You’re right, my bad… These are the places I love the most, so… _meet me_ _in_ _the crossroads_ , Michele and I'll be sure to satisfy your curiosities!”.

Michele's used to the heat, there's nothing hotter than the Sun, but Georgij’s words burn so much under his skin, he doesn't even have the strength to inhale air and exhale words. He simply nods towards the Waning Moon, making all the efforts to display a self-confidence he hasn't got at all.

He hates the deep darkness of the night but he hates even more not to understand things and, by now, Georgij is surely the most obscure riddle he has ever met.


	2. #2: The Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michele recites in a rapt manner, staring in the distance, _“Unaware they were of their existence / wallowing in the eternal stillness / They roamed freely the void, not caring / For directions, not following any purpose. / And then Love arrived, golden wings as vast / As the endless darkness, that enveloped / Those unnamed beings, and their feathers brought / The only thing that could give life to void. / A Light, more brilliant than a myriad / Of scorching suns, awakened their numb minds / And they searched for names and they asked for theirs. / Love smiled and in that exact moment they both / Knew who they were and they both craved Love’s / Company. And Love nodded, their smile lighting up the / Darkness, their skilled fingers shaping their / Newborn hearts, playing with their strings. And so, / Love wove the immeasurable fabric of / The darkness and thus the Universe was born”._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the second chapter, finally (a day early, LOL). I don't have many things to say, I just want to highlight that:  
> \- Here Viktor is Selene, because I basically adore the idea of Georgij being his shadow and, in this case, Georgij being the "shadow moon" of the Full Moon that is Viktor is a concept I like A LOT;  
> \- "Mene" is another word that was used to designate Selene, not a real place;  
> \- There's a faint attempt to write (in English and this isn't even my first language, JFC) a poetic piece in pentameters... sort of... I totally messed with the stressed syllables but _I needed_ Michele to speak in rhymes at least once, since he's the God of Arts, yes;  
>  \- I'm a sucker for rare pairs and I think in this chapter it's showing _a lot_.
> 
> Thanks for your attention, see you soon! (*ﾟｰﾟ)ゞ⌒☆

_Tonight_  
_I'm in the hands of fate_  
_I hand myself_  
_Over on a plate_  
_**(Behind the wheel | Depeche Mode)**_

Nights are cold and full of sorrow, Michele is pretty convinced of this assumption. It doesn't matter how many times he ventures in the desert country under the starry sky, he hates that kind of atmosphere: the absence of light, the silence…Iit all reminds him of the dark womb and the period when he didn't have a conscience but was only a being made of sheer power, ready to destroy and consume, instead of giving life and warmth to the myriad of fragile beings the Earth swarmed with.

And still, in spite of those frightful thoughts, for the last two months Michele has chosen to accompany Sara in each and every of her night hunts, following her across windy paths and through damp forests and darkened caves, only to make her not so casually stop by a crossroad.

Georgij didn't lie, crossroads are their favourite places, but Michele quickly learned that “crossroad” isn't a concept limited to roads built by human hands. There’re many paths that only time and nature have shaped from rocks and rivers and there are even more places that are natural intersections of three different roads: places where water, earth and air meet together, for an example, or paths that only Deities can roam.

Georgij is always there, standing by a three-way crossroad, as if they were born in that place and bound to live there forever: some evenings they console lost souls, other evenings they carefully watch over the obscure rituals their followers like to perform to honour them. Every night, however, they are very eager to answer his questions – it doesn't matter how challenging they can be – and there's not a single time they are not pleased to engage in an elaborate discussion about their difference of opinion with Michele, because they obviously have very different positions about a whole range of subjects.

It often happens that they are left alone, because his conversations with Georgij can become very engaging and Sara takes advantage of his distraction to go back to her hunts but Michele has stopped caring for those sudden disappearance by now: Sara is free to do whatever she wants, but now he _wants_ to be left alone with Georgij, listening to their stories, being the only one to be watched by those deep, blue eyes, when it's his time to talk.

This evening is different, though: he's already by himself – Sara went on a _hunting trip_ with Mila and he was strongly invited not to follow them – and he has roamed around the open country and the forests for two hours straight but to no avail. Georgij is not in any of their usual places and he's growing tired and angry as the minutes pass: they didn’t have any kind of date, Michele always manages to make their encounters look like they are totally casual, so, he shouldn't feel disappointed if this time the Waning Moon has ditched him to attend a sacrifice or a feast in their honour or even meet _another Deity_. This isn't even one of their favourite nights: the Moon is in full bloom and Michele knows very well who's responsible for that flood of light that is brightening the evening as if it were midday and not midnight.

“Foppish bastard…”.

Michele clenches his fists and stops: he could return to his dwelling and forget everything, he won't die if he doesn't meet Georgij for one night but his heart is too restless by now to let him sleep peacefully. So, he decides it's a good time to go pestering the cause of that surge of light that dares to compete with his own.

He knows what is his favourite place among all – the Full Moon likes to show off his _glorious nudity_ a lot – and it's not difficult for him to reach his home. Time and Space don't work for Deities the same way they do for humans: every one of them can manipulate both aspects of reality according to their powers and he's light and fire, he can almost fly over the ground and be everywhere he wants in the bat of an eye. Only Emil can beat him but Emil is able to _teleport himself_ , so, that’s practically cheating, uh?

It doesn't take more than a bunch of seconds for him to reach the Pond of Mene. It's a placid pool of water, that reflects the night sky like a clear mirror. The thin, pendulous branchlets of green weeping willows caress the surface like long, slender fingers, and every blade of grass is illuminated by the silver moonlight, the same shade of silver that colours the black walls of the cave that surrounds the pond.

It's not an easy place for humans to reach but the view would please the eye of many of them: everything seems made of glass and snow, under the light that flows from an opening in the ceiling during the day as well as during the night. Michele doesn't understand why the Pond is considered so charming: it's humid and shady, there's too much water and it's not ventilated enough for his taste.

He moves forward, his sandals sinking into the green, damp grass, and his hands angrily take off tender twigs and long, slender leaves, when he spots who he’s after: a beautiful man, skin paler than the moonlight and the flexible, muscular body of a wood nymph, is coming out of the water. Long, silvery hair is slicked back like a cascade of light and Michele is ready to step in and tell him to tone down, because it's midnight and Viktor can't really believe to be able to shine as bright as the Sun, that’s fucking prepo…

“You should be more patient, Viktor, you know he's not very punctual…”.

“But what if he's already tired of me?! Sometimes Yuuri is so secretive… what if he made up his mind and doesn't want to be with a Deity anymore? Maybe I should offer to give him Godhood?”.

A low voice, deep as the depths of the sea, reaches his eardrums even before his eyes can spot the dark-cloaked figure, languidly lounging on the shore of the pond, one leg sunk in the placid body of water, while they lazily play with the petals of a stray water lily.

“Oh no, I think it's too early to propose something like this to him, Viktor!”.

Michele is frozen, half-covered by a curtain of twigs and soft leaves, and his eyes are all on Georgij’s face, their facial features suddenly distorted by Viktor's words. Their lilac-tinted mouth is pulled down at the corners in a sad expression and their gaze becomes so melancholic for reasons the God of Sun doesn’t know, not yet. Then, “But I love him so much! I’d do anything to make him, you know, feel equal to me. I want him to be happy with me, not feel uncomfortable!” Viktor utters with a childish tone and his voice breaks on the last syllables but Michele doesn't even notice it. All that matters to him at this moment is Georgij's deep, blue eyes and how they suddenly spot him between the green branches, widening both in confusion and awe. Michele's heart flutters in the middle of his chest and he feels so overwhelmed, like the first time Georgij touched him and the white noise drowned out every other sound. His mind becomes a void filled only with his loud heartbeat, and he acts rashly again.

“Pfft! How come so many Deities like to fall for humans, lately?! And you even dare to complain that it's hard to handle a relationship with one of them… seriously, what’s your problem, anyway?”.

He pushes aside the branches with a loud puff, killing the peaceful mood of the pond without a second thought. He tries his best not to look back at the Waning Moon, so, he ends up almost tripping over a root and all he sees is Viktor’s sardonic smile, while he sits completely naked in the greener grass surrounding the pond.

“Your same problem, probably, since I vaguely remind you, too, was quite interested in my lovely Yuuri, the first time you saw him herding sheep!”.

“What the f… I only said his skills with the syrinx were pretty good not that I wanted to test his skills in bed!” Michele protests with a squeaky voice, that echoes horribly against the walls of the cave, and his amethyst eyes cast nervous glances at Georgij. They're smiling, too, still laying on their back, but their lips are now turned up in a gentle smile and they seem even _curious_ to know more about his supposed “unrequited sympathy” for the human who stole Viktor's heart.

Michele loudly swallows air and embarrassment, hoping his face isn't turning redder than his boiling blood, but Viktor isn’t satisfied, yet, and insists, pointing a wet finger at the God of Sun, “If I recall correctly, you repeated that sentence about a hundred times every single day… it was that time when it rained a lot… because a certain Deity of Sun was too busy spying from the distance a _mere human_ playing his syrinx… do you remember it?”.

“Preposterous! Don’t try to mix up my sincere admiration for human talent with your mad desire to get laid!”.

Michele is burning of rage, a muffled glowing emanating from his reddened cheeks and from his olive skin, right under his purple himation. He’s burning so much that a thin gust of dark grey smoke starts to rise from the grass under his leather sandals.

“It was quite a surprise to see you here, Michele. I didn’t imagine you liked to hang out at places like this”.

The soothing effect of Georgij’s deep voice is almost immediate: Michele turns in their direction, gazing at him with a confused expression, before finally understanding their words and nodding furiously, while Viktor is already pushed back in the dark recesses of his flustered mind.

“Yes, well… I like to take long strolls at night and…”.

“You said you hate night with all your might, as I recall! You used to go _in the Realm of Dreams_ , because you couldn’t stand darkness and cold… have you forgotten this, too?”.

Viktor is terrible at remembering things, so, Michele’s wondering why in the hell his memory is suddenly so good right now, of all the possible times. The plain fact is Viktor warmly hates whoever tries to interfere with his love story with Yuuri. It doesn’t matter that Michele has never made a real move on him: he was a potential rival for a brief, fearful moment and Viktor’s not sure he has finally drawn a line under it and moved on.

So, he’s tormenting the God of Sun with his most easy-going smile and Michele doesn’t know how to reply to his verbal assaults.

“Viktor, please! Let him breathe!”.

Once again Georgij’s voice comes to his rescue and Michele breathes, deeply, trying to pull himself together instead of jumping down Viktor’s throat.

“… and for your information, I don’t hate the night per se… only the ones in which you shine too bright up in the sky… you’re so obnoxious, for the love of Mother Earth!”.

He can’t help but utter those words as if they burned on the tip of his tongue and he can catch a glimpse of the Waning Moon, resignedly shaking their head at his sudden burst of rage. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate their help but he can’t possibly let Viktor have the last word.

“Ah, yes, you obviously adore the nights when shines your sister… the Rising Moon… or… wait a minute...”.

Viktor dismisses those words with a careless gesture of his hand. He doesn’t pay much attention to others’ emotional state but he, too, can easily notice the way Michele’s gaze quickly falls upon Georgij, when he casually tries to guess what the God of Sun finds attractive in a night full of darkness and ghosts.

Even Viktor can _see_ the way that gaze softens for a mere instant, before the God of Sun notices his unrequested attention, and he smiles. It’s not a cruel smile like the one he made before – even if there’s something unequivocally mischievous in the curve of his lips – but Michele panics anyway, suddenly afraid of being exposed for something he’s not even acknowledged yet.

“Michele…” Viktor murmurs, savouring that name on the tip of his tongue, and two pair of eyes are set on him – Georgij’s gaze is full of confusion and curiosity, while Michele looks like he’s ready to kill him, if he tries to…

“Viktor!”.

A melodious voice, full of anxiety, reaches their eardrums and the three of them turn their heads in the same direction, in time to watch a human with raven black hair, wearing the humble linen tunic of a pastor, who descends through one of the three, secret entrances to the Pond of Mene.

“Yuuri, my dear!”.

Viktor’s voice is a cascade of milk and honey, when he raises his arm to greet his beloved. Then he stands up in a quick, gracious jump – offering to Georgij and Michele a view of his naked, gorgeous ass they both end up staring at – and dives in the pond, light and fair like a floating feather, swimming away to reach his Yuuri.

“Whew… what a nuisance!”.

Michele sags down in a sigh of relief and his facial features relax, while Georgij shakes their head and comments with a dreamy tone, “That Viktor… he’s so in love… he’s lucky to be reciprocated… so lucky…”.

“Y… yeah, sort of… he’s one lucky bastard, to be honest… I didn’t even imagine you knew him… well…considering your roles, it makes sense”.

Michele tries to quickly change the subject but then Georgij sits back and raises the hem of their dark blue and black tunic to put both of their legs in the fresh water and the God of Sun catches a glimpse of their thighs. It’s kinda embarrassing – he’s not a voyeur – but he can’t help but being charmed by that innocent flash of their pale skin. Georgij always wear long tunics and elaborate veils that only uncover their strong arms, they really like the mysterious effect they provide, and Michele hates himself for wanting to see _more_ of their beautiful body, considering how many Deities usually walk around totally naked. Modesty is an unknown concept to cosmic powers, after all.

“The bond between me and Viktor is… peculiar, at least. I was there the moment after he raised for the first time… you can think of me as his ghostly shadow, mmh?”.

There’re the depths of the sea in the last mutter Georgij exhales but Michele tries to focus on their words and shrugs, to shake away that charming spell the Waning Moon seems to cast on him every time they meet.

Then he sees it, the slender hand the Deity puts out, while, “Wanna join me?” they murmur. Michele nods and quickly sits at their side but doesn’t touch them, he even shies away from their hand with a knee-jerk reaction. Georgij simply sighs and retreats and Michele feels awful: it’s not their fault but he’s not sure he can’t stand again a physical contact with the Waning Moon. The stinging sensation in the middle of his chest, the shivers down his spine, the goose bumps and that eerie feeling of a misplaced presence… their first contact was barely two months ago and it still haunts his wildest dreams.

He needs time and Georgij is patient enough not to force him. Sometimes they stretch out their hand, sometimes they make clear they don’t mind if Michele wants to come closer and touch them but the God of Sun can’t help but stare in awe at them and stay still. That’s what he has done throughout his life – and his life, even if he takes into account only the period from the moment he started to be conscious, has already been very long.

“A shadow? For what I’ve seen you do a lot of things completely unrelated from that obnoxious bastard… I mean, the ghosts, the Underword, the… your mastery of Witchcraft… to me you seem pretty distinct from his figure and his powers”.

Georgij smiles proudly at his words and Michele feels so stupid but he lightly smiles together with them; he could stare at their deep blue eyes for ages, especially when they shine with such a happy light, but then they hear the notes of a sweet song filling the silent and peaceful atmosphere of the pond. They both turn their heads towards the source of that voice: it’s hesitating and shy at first, then it takes a convoluted turn and becomes sensuous and languid, telling the story of a girl who looks at the moon’s reflection on the quiet surface of a lake, hopelessly dreaming of reaching her, one day.

Michele and Georgij can feel Yuuri’s voice caressing their eardrums and coiling around their necks like a velvet promise. Viktor’s listening to him, laying at his feet with half of his body still in the cold water and a look of pure love in his beautiful, baby blue eyes. The God of Sun can easily understand why he’s so captivated by the singing skills of a _mere_ human.

“So, you, too, love humans, uh?”.

Georgij’s voice, again, seems strong enough to captivate him even more and Michele is forced to turn his head and look at them with a flustered expression.

“I’m not in… they’re fascinating creatures… they don’t possess the most powerful or high-pitched voices but their craft skills… they’re creative geniuses… the way they can locate logic and art even in the strange shape of a rock… it’s almost a divine talent, if you think about it”.

“Do you feel… understood by them? Do you feel they can find in the Nature the same poetry you’ve made since you were aware you could sing about all the different nuances that are trapped in the wing of a dragonfly?”.

Yuuri’s voice becomes a soft background music for their conversation and Michele focuses only on the way Georgij’s lilac-tinted lips form words, before replying quietly, “Well, I’m the God of Art, so… yes, they’re not always very refined but they have such a peculiar way to show their love… their awe… even their hate… I mean they have this peculiar way to talk about their feelings towards the world that surrounds them… toward powers like ours they can’t completely understand… I like it. I like how they’re so naïve they think they can find something _human_ in everything they see… but I don’t like them in the way Viktor thinks!”.

Michele snorts, making Georgij gently laughing at his angry expression, and then insists with a frustrated tone – why the other Deities can’t understand there are a lot of way of loving people without involving any kind of sexual attraction?! – that, “This is honestly baffling! All these Deities falling in love with humans… first Chris, now Viktor… what the actual…”.

“Well, you can include me in that list”.

If a heart can make a sound, when it shatters, Michele’s one is probably collapsing on itself like a supernova right now.

“You… what…”.

“I fell in love with a human some time… well, a lot of time ago… two centuries, to be more precise,” Georgij sighs and Michele has to refrain from breathing a sigh of relief: apparently the idea of the Waning Moon still footloose and fancy-free is almost _soothing_ but, judging from the expression on their face, they’re not as relieved as him.

“She was a wonderful woman, proud, bold… she was not intimidated by my power or the fact I was a Deity and she instantly accepted my dual nature without showing any sign of confusion or repulsion… People from her land called me with a different name and she was one of my followers… you should’ve seen her creating new spells… you’re so right, humans have very impressive crafting skills and their intellect has so much potential…”.

Georgij isn’t looking at him anymore, by now, but their deep, blue gaze is lost in depths of the pond, while they bring back a past that can revive only through their words. Among the Deities, Michele is the one gifted with a silver tongue and an unexhausted poetic strain but he recognises the talent, when he witnesses it, and he can easily say Georgij is very good at telling certain kind of stories – the tragic ones especially and, by any chance, they’re also Michele’s favourite kind.

The God of Sun simply nods, without interrupting them, and he curls up in his own himation, a cheek pressed against his knees, while Georgij’s hands start drawing spirals in the air, as they keep on talking, “But I made a mistake… I made a lot of mistakes, to be honest… I wanted her to be only mine… I wanted her to love me as desperately as I loved her… I offered to give her Godhood”.

Michele swallows hard, while he recalls the exact moment in which Viktor spoke those words, just a few minutes ago: now Georgij’s disgusted and frightened expression takes on a whole new meaning.

“She refused, obviously… she was… she was in love with someone else and she wanted to leave me, before… before embracing that new love… I did… I didn’t take it well…”.

There’s a long pause and Georgij starts torturing his lilac-tinted lips with his long fingers, staring in the distance with a concerned look, while Michele freezes in horror, fearing the words the Waning Moon has yet to pronounce. He doesn’t speak, though, wanting to believe this is not as bad as it seems.

“I was… I am proud and my heart was severely broken… if I had been human, I would've probably died for the pain but I wasn’t… I was a Deity and I was angry and you know what some of us can do, when they decide to unleash their powers, without thinking about the consequences… I… I wanted to curse her. I wanted to make her fall in a deep slumber… I wanted to make her feel as numb as I was feeling in that exact moment… I’m still kinda… ashamed of myself, even now”.

Georgij’s eyes are watery and thick, black tears are forming at the corner of their deep blue eyes. Michele stares at that astonishing sight almost fascinated but his mind is still fully focused on the Deity’s half-told story. He’s hanging from that cliffhanger as if his entire life depended from how strong was his grip, and when Georgij starts talking again, a single sigh of relief escapes Michele’s plump lips.

“But I told you she was proud, uh? She boldly faced me even when I threatened her and… I regretted every word I said, I didn’t seriously intend to harm the woman I once… I still loved but in that moment I knew she didn’t love me anymore and wouldn’t even have a good memory of me after wha happened… I left her alone, before trying to do anything else… I flew away from those lands, deciding not to show myself anymore not even to my followers… not even when they celebrated me… not for the time she was still alive. I didn’t want her to think I controlled her life and, moreover, I didn’t want to be the one to accompany her to the Underworld, when the day would come. There were other people who started to worship me in other lands and with other names. I decided to travel across this world that humans are populating more and more and keep her memory alive. Nothing more”.

Georgij falls silent, inhaling and exhaling with difficulty, as if they had just relieved themselves of a great burden, while Michele simply starts to _breath_ again.

“Well, I… you did… you didn’t succumb to the anger, you didn’t harm her… I, hmm, I probably was wrong about the alleged lack of self-control of some children of Nyx, it seems…”.

Michele stumbles over his own words and that’s not something it should happen to the God of Art himself. Only then he realises how judgemental could sound those words and that’s not how he wants to look: after all Georgij has just opened up their heart to him, it wouldn’t be fair to trample on and throw it away without any consideration.

“I, err… that’s not what I meant to say… but, you see, you were compassionate enough to step back and set her free… what I don’t understand is what made you so mad… you were on the verge of breaking the Primeval Pact and destroy a human life. For love. I don’t understand how an emotion everyone deems very positive can cause so many problems… can make both humans and Deities act so fucking _bad_ ”.

Michele stretches his legs, freeing himself from the prison of his own garments, and he looks straight back at Georgij, at their proud features, at the way they’re brushing away their tears from their pale cheeks, before smiling faintly and caressing the surface of the pond with their fingertips.

“It’s not Love’s fault, Michele… it’s how people react to their feelings that can be wrong, not the feelings themselves”.

Their voice is gentle and light like their touch on the water; Michele almost wishes to feel those fingers on his warm skin but he ignores that thought and furiously shakes his head, trying not to be charmed by the soothing effect of their words. After all, Georgij doesn’t know it but they’re touching a raw nerve, they’re forcing him to ponder a subject he has always left unsaid and pushed away from his Eyesight, pretending it didn’t exist at all.

“Well, I still don’t understand why, among all the feelings, even a Deity is so eager to experiment this one. There’re other ways to feel and show affection without becoming so vindictive…”.

Michele pauses for a moment, thinking back at how jealous he’s of his own sister and this time the stinging pain in the middle of his chest is a consequence of the shame he’s feeling for lecturing someone else about something that is a problem for him, too.

“I don’t understand the urge of loving a person to the point of suffering and being tortured by doubts… and it honestly gives me the creeps”.

“Are you afraid of things you don't understand, Michele?” Georgij inquires, their deep blue eyes staring at his expression, while the God of Sun shakes his head and tries to shy away from their insinuations.

“It's not that I’m afraid… I’m not sure if I want to know what love is, since apparently it makes even Deities go insane. There's nothing safe about such a destructive force of Nature…”.

“But it's only natural that even Deities have to bow to Love, Michele… you know what the ancient stories tell, uh? The primeval darkness was a void, unusually filled with forces that weren't even aware of their own existence, but then…” Georgij starts, all dreamy-eyed, but then another voice, less deep than theirs but more scorching and passionate, raises and drowns out every other sound.

Michele recites in a rapt manner, staring in the distance, “ _Unaware they were of their existence / wallowing in the eternal stillness / They roamed freely the void, not caring / For directions, not following any purpose. / And then Love arrived, golden wings as vast / As the endless darkness, that enveloped / Those unnamed beings, and their feathers brought / The only thing that could give life to void. / A Light, more brilliant than a myriad / Of scorching suns, awakened their numb minds / And they searched for names and they asked for theirs. / Love smiled and in that exact moment they both / Knew who they were and they both craved Love’s / Company. And Love nodded, their smile lighting up the / Darkness, their skilled fingers shaping their / Newborn hearts, playing with their strings. And so, / Love wove the immeasurable fabric of / The darkness and thus the Universe was born_ ”.

Michele falls silent, exhausted and satisfied with the outcome of his recital, still thinking about the minor changes he could make so that his poem can sound even better. Only after a few seconds he notices Georgij’s expression: they're looking at him in awe, heavily flushed cheeks, their entire body leaning forward, and for a brief moment Michele can almost feel their eerie touch, can almost fear it, can almost _crave_ it, as much as Chaos and Mother Earth craved Love’s presence.

“What… don't look at me like that! I'm the God of Arts, one of my Muses wrote this poem and I simply… err… suggested her some rhymes…” Michele tries to be modest and dismisses every possible compliment but he can't deny that he’s truly flattered at Georgij's sincere veneration.

“You’re quite interesting, you know?” Georgij whispers with a husky voice, a glint of excitement in his deep blue eyes, and Michele can almost feel their haunting presence creeping under his olive skin, making him shiver in pleasure.

“You say you’ve never experienced love, yet you're so good at describing exactly how powerful and overwhelming it can be, as if some hidden part of you had always known how does it feel… You’re truly the God of Arts, even your words are a blessing”.

There's something sweet and infatuated in the smiling curve of Georgij’s thin and lilac-tinted lips and Michele cannot avert his gaze from their face but he doesn't reply – he doesn't know how to reply to their tender remark. They both end up looking at the pond, its slick and still surface reflecting the light of the Full Moon like a mirror and spend the rest of the night in an eerie silence, barely interrupted by the distant cackle of Viktor, even too vocal when he expresses his feelings for the human who has stolen his heart.

Georgij doesn't try to touch him again and Michele can't help but think about their slender and pale fingers, wondering how their cold caress would feel against his warm skin – if they could reach even his heart and give a real shape to the only thing of his entire existence he still stubbornly refuses to acknowledge.


	3. #3: The Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“In all honesty, stranger… your beauty is a living miracle that not a statue, not even a poem could ever capture. You’re so gorgeous, you’re indeed the most wonderful piece of art my eyes have ever seen”._
> 
> _Michele jumps, his amethyst eyes widening, as he turns his head and sees her. There’s a look of confusion on his face, while too many questions pop up in his mind: how can a mere human recognise him, since he has done everything to become invisible to their eyes? But, even more importantly, why does her voice sounds so familiar, even if her figure looks so new to his eyes…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter is finally online! Just two things, before leaving you to the reading:  
> \- Melinoe is not the name of a city but the name of a chtonic nymph or a goddess, who was believed to bring madness and nightmares. Some associate this name to Hecate and, as you will read, I decided to name the city where the cult of hecate!Georgij is strong Melinoe, LOL.  
> \- In this chapter Georgij's genderfluidity is at its best, since they're a Deity and they can do whatever they like, even changing their appearance, to please their followers and... well, to surprise Michele.

_From the notes that I've made so far_   
_Love seems something like wanting a scar_   
_Well I could be wrong_   
_I'm just not sure you see_   
_I've never been in love before_   
_**(The meaning of love | Depeche Mode** )_

The pungent smell of garlic and roasted fish permeate the fresh air of the evening, mixing up with the murmurs of the people who are going through the three-way crossroad at the high gates of the city. The woman smiles briefly, covering her thin, lilac-tinted lips with her black and blue veil, when two kids run besides her, playing and bringing some joyful chaos in the quiet atmosphere that precedes the start of the festival.

Not even the high walls, made of stone and wood, can obstruct her view of the beautiful, deep blue sky and the slice of horizon still touched by the rosy and orange fingers of the sunset. Light will soon recede, though: this will be a moonless night, she can see the dark shade the sky will turn into, she can imagine he faint blinking of the most distant stars. This is the moment of the month she loves the most and this year it will perfectly coincide with the annual festival that celebrates the Queen of Ghosts.

Torches are being lit, while she crosses the central road of the big city, perched on the back of the mountain like a sparrow that grips tightly the spine of its already resigned prey. Tables are set at the doorway of the houses – from the modest huts to the marble-covered villas – and they regurgitate the pulpiest and most redolent foods. She licks her lips at the tantalising idea of tasting some of them but the laws of the city are very clear: this dinner isn’t something mortals can consume but a meal reserved only to a shadow, that is waiting the darkest hour of the night to come out.

There’s anticipation in the air, while the day fades into the distance and only the light of flames pierces the increasingly thick darkness that’s covering houses and roads, roofs and flowerbeds, animals and people, like a heavy and sticky fall of pitch. She slips through frightened elders and attentive children, making her way back to the most important crossroad of the city, where its borders are set in stone and each citizen is going.

In the stream of whispering people she almost misses him; at first, it seems only another faint glow from a burning torch but there’s not a flame surrounding that foreigner, who not a single citizen has noticed yet.

He’s at the crossroad, walking by himself like a caged lion: a familiar, purple himation covers his body almost completely, but she can see the shining aura emanating from his olive skin, the haughty frown on his beautiful face, the way he’s trying to blend in with the crowd, even if his figure totally stands out. His gaze is very different from that of the normal people: his amethyst eyes are searching in the dark for something or someone, while the citizens who are gathering in front of the altar keep their eyes down, not feeling worthy to casually capture a brief image of the Queen of Ghosts.

The woman picks up her pace, forgetting to be secretive and bumping into passers-by while she reaches the gates of the city. She’s almost beside him, she could just reach in and touch him, feeling the warmth of the fire that rushes through his veins. She’d like to touch him so much it almost hurts her chest… then she remembers she can’t: he doesn’t like to be touched, particularly by her, and so she stands still.

She lowers her hand, blending in with the night shadows and waiting silently, until he stops and gazes at the altar. Only then she finally parts her lips and speaks in her deepest voice.

“In all honesty, stranger… your beauty is a living miracle that not a statue, not even a poem could ever capture. You’re so gorgeous, you’re indeed the most wonderful piece of art my eyes have ever seen”.

Michele jumps, his amethyst eyes widening, as he turns his head and sees her. There’s a look of confusion on his face, while too many questions pop up in his mind: how can a mere human recognise him, since he has done everything to become invisible to their eyes? But, even more importantly, why does her voice sounds so familiar, even if her figure looks so new to his eyes…

Her eyes… _their_ eyes. Michele looks closely at those deep blue eyes, as deep as the vast ocean that surrounds those lands; he focuses on that voice, low and wild as the wind that howls in a moonless, stormy night, and then he realises: this isn’t a human woman, this is…

“Georgij!?”.

They smile shyly, covering their lilac-tinted lips with the black and blue veil that covers their head. Michele can see under it long, luscious black hair tied in a high bun: two curled locks frame their face, their feature slightly more softened in this female form – even if their nose possesses the same, snobbish line and their eyelashes are still thick and shiny. The Deity that stands beside him is shorter than him – the tip of their head barely reaches his shoulder – but there’s something familiar in the broadness of their shoulders and those naked arms are still muscular enough they can probably crush him in a passionate embrace… oh, no, this is not the right time for Michele to think about such things!

“Shh, my dear! Here they know me by another name, don’t spoil their fun!” Georgij sweetly admonishes him, putting a finger to their lips and Michele looks at their movement, bewitched, before fully realising what kind of _compliments_ the Waning Moon has just spoken to him. He blushes furiously – what else can he do?! They told him he was the most beautiful piece of art on Earth, just… – and then, “Oh, yes, sure! I knew I could find you here, since… this is your sacred night, uh?” he utters in a muffled scream and Georgij chuckles, nodding condescendingly.

Michele can’t help but look at them again with deep interest. Georgij’s moves are exactly the same – proud, theatrical, quite elegant – but there are different curves on their body, their fingers are thinner and slenderer, there’s the gentle, almost inviting bulge that stretches the dark and blue fabric on their chest, and… it’s strange. Michele’s always been interested in men, even if he has never let anyone of them touch him, and now there he is, almost _lusting_ after Georgij, even if they’re presenting themselves in their female form… He’s starting to understand something about their dual nature, he’d like to ask even more but he doesn’t dare to. He doesn’t know if he’s even allowed to make those questions, so he simply stares, wondering how two eyes can be so blue and deep that he’s starting to feel like drowning every time he looks into them.

“Yes, Michele, this is my night. A moonless night where light is not allowed… but you’re an exception, of course!” they smile, again, and even if their voice is only a secretive whisper, Michele can hear it echoing against the high walls of the city and in his own skull.

Yes, this is indeed Georgij’s night, their powers are at their peak, their ghostly aura creeps at his feet like the waves of a rough seas, it murmurs untold stories with one hundred different voices and Michele should back away from them but instead he stays still, letting the cold shadow, that the Waning Moon has draped over themselves, absorb even his figure.

“I thought there was a temple in which humans celebrate your festival, though…”.

“Every crossroad is my temple, Michele,” Georgij starts, nodding in direction of an altar with their effigy – a woman with three heads, one of a kid, one of a young girl and one of an elder woman – but then they raise their muscular, pale arm and points at the walls.

“Every border is my reign and every corner full of darkness and voices is the right place to celebrate my name… and this night every span of this city is a ramification of my temple: there, on the highest peak of this mountain”.

There’s a theatrical smugness in Georgij’s voice and in the way they open their arms, to metaphorically embrace the city’s outline and every person in it. Michele quite likes this side of their character, the obscure poetry he could draw out from their lilac-tinted lips, the beauty trapped in the dark, whispering shadow that imbues each and every of their words. It’s ironic, because Michele has never loved darkness, not even when Sara’s light illuminated it, but Georgij’s voice has the power to make even a moonless night the most fascinating artistic performance he has ever seen.

“So… they build a temple in your honour in the city of Melinoe, indeed” Michele inquires, his amethyst eyes trying to inspect the shadows that surround Melinoe, in search of the familiar silhouette of a sacred building. He’s not used to so much darkness, nor the faint light of torches helps him to recognise something more than other, confused shadows.

“Do you want me to show it to you?”.

Georgij’s voice is nothing more than a whisper, they’re not even that closer to him but he can clearly feel the tickling caress of their breath against the sensitive skin of his neck and it’s enough to make him shiver strongly. He’s somehow thrilled by that promise as much as by the secrets that the night encases in its bosom and not even his exceptionally sharp Eyesight can pierce.

“Well… I came here because I was curious about your festival… a guide would be well-appreciated…”.

He tries to shake that numbing sensation off his shoulders but his voice ends up sounding really eager and Georgij’s smile sweetly makes fun of his ill-concealed desire. The Deity, though, doesn’t indulge in playing with his impatience and instead says, “I’m ready to answer to every question you have in mind, dear God of Art”.

They even take a little, gallant bow and every fibre in their muscular body flexes and relaxes in the effort, and Michele can’t help but blush even more, suddenly remembering the amorous words the Waning Moon addressed to him.

Georgij can feel it, the palpable enthusiasm in Michele’s voice and in his features, now distorted in a focused frown, while he starts making questions – a lot of them. They’ve never seen the God of Sun so interested or, better, they’ve never seen him so relaxed, so ready to listen to their explanations, instead of challenging them. Georgij has never feel Michele so _physically_ close to them, moving away the curtain of whispers and restless spirits to reach them. Darkness, after all, seems a comforting alcove even for the personification of the light itself: he can use it to hide his reddened cheeks and the rapt glint of his amethyst eyes in the shadows of the darkest night of the month.

Michele asks them about Melinoe, at first: why they chose that city, why they’re not attending their events in the same night, using the power of ubiquity. Georgij replies that ubiquity means they can’t give proper attention to every place and each of their followers: Melinoe’s followers are very dedicated, Georgij can’t possibly treat them as the rest of the humans, who celebrate their name out of fear for darkness.

Michele understands very well what the Waning Moon’s saying, when he notices how the citizens of Melinoe move in the growing darkness, their heads kept down not for fear of spotting the Queen of Ghost but out of respect: being noticed by the Waning Moon is considered a privilege in Melinoe, you should not arrogantly search for their company. They all wait, they whisper the name they chose for the Deity who lives in the borders during the peace of the night, they leave their offers – this grandiose dinner – out of the doorway, they blow out the torches and wait in the coziness of their home.

Michele understands what they’re waiting for only some minutes after midnight, when he looks down at the city from the temple the citizens of Melinoe built in honour of Georgij. Flames, like blinking eyes, go out and darkness surround the two Deities completely; he can feel their _presence_ , he can feel the eerie fabric of the Underworld overlapping with the Realm of the Living Things. Ghosts swarm in the narrow and steep alleys of the city: Melinoe is their realm, just for this night, and they roam in it freely in gentle and elegant dances that make no noise.

“What’s up, Michele? You’ve been brooding a lot, tonight”.

They’re sitting on the steps of the temple, when Georgij’s low voice breaks the thick silence, while they’re gazes are both lost in the distant darkness. The upper part of the city is all lucid black and grey, all made of marble and stones of the refined buildings that encircle the temple and Michele sighs without answering… not immediately, at least.

He looks at Georgi, instead: they’re playing with a grass snake, lazily coiled around their wrist, white scales that shine even in a moonless night like this. Those scales are paler than Georgij’s skin… he’d like to touch that ghostly, cold skin, he’d like to be looked at with the same tenderness that the Waning Moon is reserving for the snake, that can even touch the tip of their nose with its mouth.

“I’m trying to understand, Georgij… I’m trying to figure out this mystery, really”.

“What mystery? The darkness…” Georgij starts asking, a hand still raised in front of their face. The grass snake is hissing quietly and its forked tongue is curiously caressing Georgij’s pale cheek; Michele looks at them in awe and disconcert and words are a hot mess stuck in the middle of his throat, before he can finally whisper, “You. You are the mystery I’m trying to figure out, Georgij”.

The Waning Moon stops playing with the grass snake, fully facing him, deep blue eyes wide open and a look of surprise on the softer features of their face. They even uncover their head, removing the black and blue veil in what seems an attempt to help the God of Sun in his personal quest.

This is the first time Michele shows his interest to the Waning Moon and not to something correlated to their powers or their ideas, the first time Georgij can feel him really _close_ and that feeling is enough to make them so emotional, they could start to cry at any moment. Milla would probably laugh at their intense reaction, if she were there, but Georgij can’t help it: they have been hoping for so long to see a sparkle of interest in Michele’s amethyst eyes, it’s almost unbelievable he’s now watching the Waning Moon through the darkness of that moonless night, wanting to know more about them.

“I really… I swear sometimes it’s really hard to understand you. The first time I saw you at that crossroad, I… ugh, this is horrible to say, but I kinda… feared you?! You’re a child of Nyx, you talked with ghosts, you knew the secret ways for the Underworld, I was… I knew some stories about you and your powers and then I saw your eyes…”.

Michele lets out a deep sigh and his body is shaken by the longest shiver ever. He seems so fragile and small for a moment that Georgij would like to touch him, to embrace him in a tight hug and give him strength but they can’t, they still remember he doesn’t like to be touched, so they can only sit beside him and wait in the shadows.

“I don’t have words to describe what I feel when I look into your eyes and, yes, this is some kind of contorted compliment but I’m trying to be honest, here. You… your eyes have this deep shade that I can’t understand, because it reminds me of places I’ve never visited, places so full of shadows and secrets that not even my Eyesight can unveil them… It’s frustrating, you know? Because there’s something really… truly beautiful in your eyes… behind those deep, blue eyes and I can’t seem to find a way to explore it…to describe it, not even with my most refined poems!”.

Michele’s voice becomes a high-pitched scream of frustration when he utters those last words, his hands clenched in two tight fists and for a moment darkness is a thin membrane full of tension and anger. Then, “You could try to come closer, Michele… you could try to trust me a bit more,” a low whisper pierces the shadows and lights up the night in a brief sparkle. Michele turns his head, letting out a sigh of surprise, and he ends up leaning towards the Waning Moon, wanting to listen more of their voice, almost desiring to touch their pale skin.

“You know, I can’t judge you, I… I, too, find it hard to understand you. You look so good, Michele, that sometimes I have to close my eyes because your beauty hurts them. You’re so gorgeous, I swear I’ve never seen another Deity or human as beautiful as you”.

They want to kiss him. Georgij wants to kiss Michele so hard they have to bite their lips, hard, until they feel the metallic taste of blood on the tip of their tongue but he’s so closer, they can feel they’re presence and the sweet scent of cornfields and sunny mornings coming from his olive skin. There’s a hungriness inside Georgij’s chest that hurts them so much and the God of Sun is the only one that could satisfy it but not now. This isn’t the right moment, he’s so vulnerable Georgij can’t possibly take advantage of the darkness, not like this.

“But on the inside… you’re scorching like your burning light in the hottest day of summer. You burn so much, my dear, as if you would melt people with the power of your heat… you’re so full of rage, sometimes it’s hard to believe you can feel other feelings… but I know you can! It’s only… my eyes are so used to darkness, it’s hard for me to search through the light and understand the shape of your shadows… You shine so bright, Michele, you almost blind me and this is the first time I try to see you, instead of shying away from your presence”.

Michele looks at them with a stunned expression: he’s the God of Art and still Georgij seems to know better than him what kind of words to use to describe their feelings… Georgij _knows_ what are their feelings towards him and that’s where the difference is: Michele doesn’t even know if what he feels for the Waning Moon is lust or love or fear… or the three of them, all together.

“It’s funny, uh?” Georgij insists, filling the uncomfortable silence with the low murmuring of their melodious voice.

“It’s almost like we’re both blind and we’re trying to lead each other through this impossible maze… maybe we’re being foolish and our efforts are vain… maybe we’re not meant to understand or…”.

“… or you’re right and we should try to become closer… to trust each other more? Yes, I can’t see through your shadows and my light blinds you but… maybe you can show me what lies in the darkness and I can… show you how to move in the light of day without hurting your… sigh… beautiful eyes”.

Georgij can see how hard Michele is blushing, even if the darkness surrounds his figure like a thick smokescreen and they smile softly, before nodding and whispering suggestively, “Then ask me whatever you want, Michele, and I’ll try my best to guide you inside these shadows”.

“Your magic… uhm… tell me more about… this whole witchcraft affair, your curses, your… how exactly do you help humans with your powers without hurting them?”.

Michele spits out those words with urgency, trying to ignore the mighty need of getting so close to Georgij until not even air can separate their bodies. This is not the right time, he’s not ready at all, he can’t do… whatever his mind is thinking to do right now with the Waning Moon, they can’t. He needs to understand some things, before making any other move.

“Oh, well… Witchcraft can be use for a lot of things and they don’t necessarily involve the harming of another human being”.

Georgij hugs their knees, still sitting on the steps of their temple, and then they presses a cheek against the hard edge of their kneecap, looking at Michele’s puzzled expression before talking again.

“Witchcraft can be used to heal a lot of different wounds, for an example…”.

“Well, I don’t like to cut you off but, by chance, I’m the one who taught the art of Medicine to humans, uh? So, I can assure you there’re no wound or illness a good physician can’t heal with the help of the right medicines…”.

Michele talks with a clear voice and his amethyst eyes shine in the dark, full of a pride that Georgij finds almost funny. The God of Sun has always been pretty confident of his vision of the world and the Waning Moon thinks this is the right moment to remind him that reality is much more than the part his bright light can illuminate: not all that glitters is gold and the rational science in which Michele believes so much can have its limits, sometimes.

“I’m not talking about the illnesses that affects the body, Michele. I’m talking about wounds that can plague your soul, wounds that need to be treated differently. Sometimes people suffer for invisible diseases that normal medicines can’t heal… sometimes they need a pinch of magic to right the wrongs… they need to escape reality and live lucid dreams… they need to speak again, for the last time, with the ghosts of their beloved ones… they need to pretend for a brief time their wishes have come true to ease their sorrows…”.

“Lucid dreams? Are you… are you talking about drugs?!”.

Georgij’s voice so enchanting, Michele has to force himself in order to interrupt the flow of their words. There’s something deeply fascinating in what the Waning Moon is telling him – a part of him can even relate to the spiritual sorrows they’re talking about – but those ideas go against everything he has been believing in and teaching to humans for centuries. That one can use magic to ease their pain… that’s preposterous and probably even dangerous! But then he looks back at Georgij and the gentle smile on their lilac-tinted lips almost… offends him: the Waning Moon is treating him like a naïve child, too full of himself, too oblivious to really understand how the world really works.

“Oh, don’t be so shocked, Michele! After all, your beloved medicines are drugs, too! Your physicists use them to trick the body, when it’s necessary to ease a strong pain that torments it”.

Georgij shakes their head, their muscular, pale neck tensing for the effort and Michele finds himself so absorbed in watching that gesture, he almost forgets to reply and his voice sounds hoarse and uncertain, when he finally speaks.

“So… you’re telling me that it’s right to use your witchcraft to trick the mind of humans?”.

“Don’t be so quick to judge, Michele… There are sorrows no one can stand while being lucid… there are places inside yourself that hurt so much, you desperately need some comfort, even if it’s only illusory… Sometimes a good… dream is all it takes for your aching heart to hurt a little less, uh?”.

Georgij’s voice is a sorrowful, sensuous hissing that coils around Michele’s neck like the grass snake that’s now sleeping at their side. The God of Sun sees the Waning Moon stretching their long legs and their muscular arms in a single, fluid gesture and then there’s one of their pale fingers that points towards him. For a brief moment he almost fears – he almost _hopes_ – that Georgij will touch him but they only move their finger and point at his chest, right where his heart is. There’s silence and darkness, too much darkness, and then the sound of Michele painfully swallowing air and words, before uttering in a raspy whisper, “Do you… does your heart ache for someone right now, Georgij?”.

It’s a stupid question, Michele can easily tell that the Waning Moon is suffering for love, it’s clear from every exasperated sigh they make but he needs to listen from their own voice that this isn’t only a mere guess, that he isn’t nurturing a delusional hope about the possibility of… what?

Georgij curls their lips in a sad and soft smile and then their hand is against their breasts, while they cast a deep blue gaze at the God of Sun, forcing him to focus all of his attention only on their black and blue figure.

“There’s _someone_ who makes my heart ache very much, Michele… Someone who seems not ready to accept my love and I can’t do anything… I can only wait, you know?”.

Michele hopes they don’t notice but his heart has suddenly stopped beating for a long moment. Michele hopes they don’t see but he has just flinched because of that sentence. He shouldn’t be so afraid, he should be… happy? He doesn’t know how he should feel in this situation, it’s the first time his feelings are reciprocated so openly, he does the only thing a rational mind can do when facing the unknown.

He runs away.

“What… yeah, but… what would you do if this… _this someone_ would… would never accept you? What would you do if you had to wait for too long?”.

“I’m ready to wait for all the eternity, if it’s necessary, Michele”.

Georgij’s not sighing while uttering those words. They’re looking right into his amethyst eyes, their inquiring gaze piercing like a sharp knife the veil of excuses that divides them, and Michele shivers… in pleasure. This is what a part of him wants: being cornered until he will be forced to acknowledge his feelings, being devoid of any escape route to finally face the source of all his frustrations.

But for what concerns the other part of himself…

“Eternity is a very long period of time, you know… you shouldn’t spend it trying to reach for something that doesn’t exist… or someone that doesn’t want you or… or, you know, can’t… can’t accept your feelings…”.

A voice – _his own voice_ – in his head is practically screaming at him how stupid are his words right now and Michele almost misses Georgij’s soft reply to scold himself too harshly.

“I know… I know and I wouldn’t try to force my way, if there’s no hope for this love to thrive, I’ll step back and watch that someone from a safe distance, keeping my feelings for myself but, you know… I hope for that someone that they’ll find a way out of their self-imposed solitude… they don’t like being by themselves, I can read their loneliness in their beautiful eyes… I hope that they’ll find the company they deserve… even if it won’t be me… well, I’d obviously prefer to be the chosen one but still…”.

Georgij shrugs, their breasts rising and falling under the light fabric of their black and blue tunic and Michele’s concentration falters again: a single movement of the Waning Moon’s body is enough to make his fantasy go wild and darkness somehow sharpen his senses even more.

“But… have you ever tried to imagine that probably this _someone_ prefer to be alone even… even it that makes him suffer? Maybe he’s too afraid of what could happen if…”.

Being at a loss of words when you’re the God of Art – when you invented poetry – it’s quite a shame but the more Michele insists, the more he struggles to find the right line of reasoning.

“Then, I hope he will find a way to get rid of that toxic fear”.

Georgij abruptly cuts him out; their female form makes their deep, blue eyes sharper than usual and Michele feels almost… judged by that intense gaze that doesn’t leave him alone, not even for the time of the blink of an eye.

“I really… really hope they will be bold enough to face that fear and defeat it. I don’t care if they will choose to be alone in the end but I’m very concerned for their wellbeing. It would be better for them to do something… after all, my dear Michele, it hurts more to live in fear forever, to wait in the shadows until you’re so tired and fed up, you end up feeling nothing at all, uh?”.

Michele doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even breathe, he simply listens to those words and for the first time in his long life, he lets them enter his mind and reach the darkest part of himself – even inside the God of Sun there’s a place the light can’t reach.

He has never really thought about the event of being alone for the rest of his life. And ‘the rest of his life’ is such a gigantic span of time… but what would happen, if he surrendered? What would be of his precious, rational mind?

“So… you wouldn’t use your magic tricks to try… try and convince them?”.

“They don’t need my spells, Michele. I can use them to… console myself in time of need, but that someone… if they want to wake up they need all their rationality to face the reality that’s waiting for them to wake up. Especially since they’re acting quite childishly lately, uh?”.

That last remark gets under his skin and Michele notices, not without disdain, that Georgij is sarcastically smiling at him. He doesn’t even want to imagine how they look, when they lose their temper, but he’s quite sure Georgij would put up a first-rate show, if properly exasperated.

“… you were wrong, before”.

“On… what?!”.

Nevertheless, he decides to tease the Waning Moon and now it’s not the rational part of himself that’s speaking. Now it’s his almost forgotten sense of adventure that’s tempting him to test Georgij’s patience and see what happens.

“When you said that sentence… when you meet me in your sacred crossroad in front of Melinoe’s walls… I’m not a simple _piece of art_. I’m the _God of Art_ … understood?”.

Michele smiles proudly. He’s pretty sure this is his turn to embarrass the Waning Moon… that sentence still burns under his skin more than any of his rays can do in the hottest day of summer… that voice whispering the sweetest compliments still titillates his pride and he’s not sure he can resist them any longer if he doesn’t do something.

“Oh, you’re right…”.

But if there’s something he doesn’t know yet… it isn’t easy to find something that can embarrass the Waning Moon, especially when they’re all dedicated to win over someone’s heart.

“Then let me rephrase it: in all honesty, Michele… your beauty is a living miracle that not a statue, not even a poem could ever capture. You’re so gorgeous, you’re indeed the most wonderful _embodiment of Art_ my eyes have ever seen”.

It burns. Every single one of those words burns so much not even the God of Sun can stand that heat. His heart is an orb of fire that threatens to eat the inside of his chest and leave him empty and yearning for more… of those words, of Georgij’s voice, of their obscure, intoxicating presence.

“Oh, for the love of Mother Earth!” he curses under his breath, fists clenched and jaw tightened, and his voice explodes in a burst of light, a brief sparkle in the darkest night of the year.

Georgij laughs heartily but doesn’t touch him. They never touch him and Michele reaches a painful conclusion, when a sting pierces his chest from side to side. The Waning Moon’s right: waiting will only make him suffer more and more.

He has to do something and he has to do it quickly.


	4. #4: The Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s a vast, golden expanse of ripe wheat; the long, thin stems are so high Georgij can barely see through them. The field seems desert but they choose to stay and search for Michele: this is the place he pointed out, the Waning Moon is sure about that. They take a deep breath, putting their hands in front of them, and then they dive in, as if they were swimming through the dark ocean._
> 
> _Thin, yellow awns caress their cheeks and naked arms, while they proceed carefully, trying not to tread on the plants: Georgij can feel the God of Sun’s fierce heat warming up every stem and every flower of that crop, they can feel his power and his presence in every tiny insect that walks over the fertile ground of the field._
> 
> _The Waning Moon has never loved the light of day, nor the crackling of the tiniest bonfire but now they move forward, searching for the source of that limitless heat, hoping to find him as soon as possible… hoping to be burned to the bone by the Sun’s aggressive touch. There’s something slightly suicidal in their thirst, but Georgij doesn’t mind it: they’ve always known that Love and Pain are a single entity in their tormented life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, there! Chapter four is finally out! Oh God, this week was so intense, I was afraid I couldn't update the fic in time but I did it! Just a few notes, as usual, before leaving you all to the chapter:  
> \- Deimos is the Greek God of Terror and one of the two sons of Ares and Aphrodite (the other one was Phobos, the Greek God of Fear);  
> \- "Haemonian Plains" was my pale attempt to recreate a bloody battle whose name is a vague reference to the battle of the "Catalaunian Plains". In all truth, "Haemon" is one of the characters of the Antigone myth and his name, in Greek, means "bloody", so...  
> \- Emil is Hermes and the legend says he invented the lyre and then gave it to Apollo (well, the story is a little bit more complex but you can google it) and I couldn't miss the reference in this chapter, _obviously_ ;  
> \- Georgij and Michele are two dorks.
> 
> I probably forgot to mention something but whatever, have fun~!

_I'm shying from the light_   
_I always loved the night_   
_And now you offer me eternal darkness_   
_**(One Caress | Depeche Mode)**  _

“So… do you intend to sit down and be consumed with regrets, while sighing that no one will ever love you?”. 

“You’re so harsh, Milla! And it’s not as simple as you think…”. 

“It’s surely simpler than you _think_ , Georgij. Stalling isn’t a wise choice, not in battle and not even in love”. 

Georgij shakes their head, making an annoyed grimace when the screeching of the steel against the rock hits their eardrums again, drowning out even Milla’s assertive voice. 

“But you can’t reduce every aspect of life to war! Do you really believe that love is a battle?”. 

The Waning Moon’s shocked words echo against the high, rocky walls of what is, more or less, their best friend’s favourite abode: a kingdom of grey rocks, polished by strong winds and capricious creeks. The Goddess of War loves mountaintops, the higher they are, the better it is. 

Georgij isn’t particularly fond of it but this place is where water, air and earth meet and every crossroad of three elements always feels like home to them. The only real problem, right now, is the noise, though… 

“I can’t speak for love in itself but… yes, courting is a battle, indeed! A battle of wits…”. 

She pauses for a moment, looking carefully at the edge of her already sharpened sword; her light-blue eyes, under her furrowed eyebrows, are completely focused on the steel, on the ever-changing point where the Sword of Deimos and the blue whetstone meet. 

She moves her hand back and forth, rhythmically, and it would be even a fascinating view, if that activity didn’t produce shrieking noises that, together with the thundering sound of the nearby creek, make Georgij even more uncomfortable than the subject of their discussion. 

“If you think about it, you have to understand your rival… pardon, your possible, future lover. You have to learn everything about them, prepare strategies, understand what they love and what they hate… and then you have to choose the right moment to attack… err, to confess your feelings, I mean. Or you have to acknowledge that you can’t win their heart, nor this battle, retreat and admit your defeat…”. 

Milla stops honing her sword and finally stands up, towering over the flat rock she has used as a support until now. She raises the blade and it cleaves the air with a hiss, that makes her smile proudly. She truly seems a bloodthirsty and vindictive Goddess, while the muscles of her arms flexes in the effort of cutting the almost unbreakable rocks of her home, even if she’s not wearing anything else than a short, leather skirt. 

After all, clothes are only useless ornaments for Deities like them and, outside the battlefield, Georgij’s best friend seems not to stand very well the constraint of armours and too many layers of fabric.   

“Yes, that’s what I was trying to say just a minute ago! I’m not stalling, I’m admitting my defeat and…” the Waning Moon finally sighs, still laying over the flat, musky rock that is Milla’s mostly unused bed. The Goddess of War lowers her arm, gently stashing the Sword of Deimos in a recess in the stone, and then folds her arms against her breasts, before facing her best friend with an exasperated sigh. 

“Oh, please, don’t fool me! Michele invited you to his abode! He said he wanted to talk to you… he practically searches for you every night… he could roam the entire Earth, visiting other humans and sharing his knowledge with them! Instead he has chosen to stay in this region for months, since you two first met… So, don’t tell me he’s not ready to reciprocate your feelings, because I won’t believe you!”. 

“But… you should see him… every time he’s near me… _he’s afraid of me_ , Milla. He’s afraid of my touch… of my presence, even! I don’t think he really desires my company… Well, I don’t know what to think anymore, at this point…”. 

Georgij covers their tinted-lilac lips with their free hand, their cheek still resting again their fist. They don’t move, still laying on their side, and in the light of the day their tunic seems more blue than black, a strange shadow that doesn’t belong to the Realm of the Living Things, like a shred of darkness teared off from the fabric of Night herself. 

Milla’s gaze is unyielding. She can’t understand, she doesn’t know what fear is or… better, she knows Fear so well she treats her like a friend. By now, she’s the only person – among humans and deities – who’s never been afraid of Georgij’s presence, not even the first time they met. She doesn’t care about the voices, the ghosts, the dark halo that surrounds the Waning Moon’s physical manifestation. She knew some of those voices, when they were still alive; she watched some of those ghosts crossing the border between the Two Realms, how can she be afraid of something that is part of her nature, too? 

“Yes, and that’s why you should go and talk with him, Georgij! If he’s really afraid of you and doesn’t want your company anymore… well, it’d be better if you knew it. You’ll both stop suffering for this situation… stalling isn’t the solution. You said him yourself: waiting without doing anything brings along only more pain, uh?”.  

Georgij ruefully nods, finally meeting her light-blue gaze: they don’t like when people turn their own words against them but Milla does have a point and she’s still the only one stubborn enough to force them to think about their obsessions, before they end up consuming them again and again. 

“Uff… this remembers me of the Haemonian Plains…”. 

The Goddess of War lets out a sigh, before sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows against her thighs and a focused expression on her face. 

“Ah, our first encounter! How could I forget it? It was a starless night and you were the only one to stand up in the middle of the battlefield… the moonlight illuminated only your hair… they were longer, uh? And they were so red, it seemed you were covered in blood from head to toes!”. 

Georgij’s voice becomes dreamy, while they sit up and their long, pale fingers lightly caress Milla’s now-short, blood-red hair. She smiles sarcastically and then, “Yeah, and I remembered that silver light was yours! And you were there to collect souls and accompany them to the Underworld… but something… sorry, someone made you forget what was your job for more than one hour, now that I recall it!” she utters, teasing the Waning Moon, but her gaze is sweet while she’s overwhelmed by those same memories. 

She remember very well the black and blue Deity who stood in front of her, Georgij preferred to appear in their female form during that time. They came cloaked in night shadows and grim omens and they were one of the most amazing vision she had ever seen in her life – at least before Destiny made her meet Sara. 

“Can you blame me for being distracted?”. 

“Well, no… But I also remember very well that even if you liked to court me… well… _a lot_ … and even if I made perfectly clear that I wanted you as much as you wanted me… I had to make the final step, because you were so full of doubts…”. 

Milla rolls her eyes, while the Waning Moon seems offended at the simple insinuation that their love game isn’t effective enough, but their best friend shrugs and her voice is now full of concern and passion, while she tries her best to talk some sense into Georgij… a more difficult task than defeating an army of ten thousand men all alone, indeed.  

“I understand your concerns, Georgij, really… but sometimes it seems to me you like the idea of falling in love more than the actual realisation of that love. You have to make a choice, my dear friend, and this time… it seems to me… it’s your turn to make that final step”. 

Milla’s words dig into their chest like long, sharp claws and make Georgij bleed even more doubts and fears. They don’t want to lose Michele’s friendship – or whatever it is their strange, tensed relationship – and they know enough about divine souls to guess that a love confession made at the wrong time would only frighten more the God of Sun. 

But Milla has a point and her reasoning seems to have awakened a mighty need inside Georgij that they can’t ignore anymore. Their departure from the Goddess of War is quicker than the etiquette rules require but their best friend has never particularly minded the formalities and she waves goodbye to them with a warning. 

“Don’t procrastinate, Georgij”. 

They move in the shadows – they jump between the Realm of the Living Things and the Underworld, every crossroad is a stop before taking a major leap, every border is a shortcut to their destination – until they reach a place where the sun shines so high and bright that shadows can’t exist anymore. 

It’s a vast, golden expanse of ripe wheat; the long, thin stems are so high Georgij can barely see through them. The field seems desert but they choose to stay and search for Michele: this is the place he pointed out, the Waning Moon is sure about that. They take a deep breath, putting their hands in front of them, and then they dive in, as if they were swimming through the dark ocean. 

Thin, yellow awns caress their cheeks and naked arms, while they proceed carefully, trying not to tread on the plants: Georgij can feel the God of Sun’s fierce heat warming up every stem and every flower of that crop, they can feel his power and his presence in every tiny insect that walks over the fertile ground of the field. 

The Waning Moon has never loved the light of day, nor the crackling of the tiniest bonfire but now they move forward, searching for the source of that limitless heat, hoping to find him as soon as possible… hoping to be burned to the bone by the Sun’s aggressive touch. There’s something slightly suicidal in their thirst, but Georgij doesn’t mind it: they’ve always known that Love and Pain are a single entity in their tormented life. 

“Are you here to mock me?! Then you can go away! Now!”. 

“Oh, come on, Michele! I’m not mocking you, I’m merely stating the obvious!”. 

The voices suddenly reach their eardrums and Georgij stops, trying to figure out from where they come. 

“It’s the third time I have to come to repair the strings of your lyre , this week, because you keep on breaking them! Well, don’t get me wrong… it’s always great to see you but if something bothers you, _talk to me_ , or you’ll destroy this poor instrument!”. 

The clear voice of the Messenger of Deities resonates in the suffocating air of that summer morning and becomes Georgij’s compass to find a way out of that labyrinthic field of wheat that surrounds them like a stormy sea. 

“Tch! It’s not my fault if those strings are so delicate! And… uff… I’ve got no problem whatsoever, I’m only composing… trying to compose some verses but… ugh, I’m confused, ok?! I can’t understand these feelings, I feel awful… no, this is the wrong word, the meaning isn’t so negative… don’t you see? I can’t even properly explain how I feel, let alone writing poetry!”. 

Eavesdropping isn’t one of Georgij’s favourite activities but he would be lying, if they said they didn’t want to listen more to their dear God of Sun’s complaints. They start moving more slowly, trying their best not to bend the long, thin, yellow stems of the wheat too much, while they focus on Michele’s words: there’s not rage in his voice but something that seems a mix of tired resignation and… thirst, the same thirst of contact the Waning Moon’s experiencing right now. 

Would Georgij be too self-righteous, if they hoped Michele were talking about them? 

“Oh, I see, and that’s why you take it out on this innocent lyre?”. 

“Oh, for the Love of Mother Earth stop caring about that damn thing, we’re talking about _my feelings_! Plus, it seems that lurking in the shadows is somehow difficult even for my Eyesight… yeah, I already know what you’re about to say: but you…”. 

“But you’ve never really tried, Michele, so how can you know?”. 

Emil and Michele’s voices overlap almost perfectly and Georgij tries their best not to burst out laughing loudly but the final echo becomes even more funnier, since Michele sounds so outraged while talking. They stop, now finally close enough to the place where the two Gods are still arguing, but the high stems and the multitude of yellow flowers make almost impossible to see what’s happening on the edge of the field. 

There’s a forest nearby, Georgij can sense its soothing shadow, but they don’t dare to make a single move. If they reveal themselves right now, they’ll look just like an intruder who was eavesdropping until a minute ago and… well, the last part is quite true but the Waning Moon likes to plan carefully when to make their entrance. It’s a matter of the right word in the right time and this isn’t absolutely the right time at all. 

“Well, Emil, probably you’re even right but, believe me, it’s even harder when you’re trying to look at one of the child of Nyx! I… ugh… every time I look at them, my mind goes completely blank. I don’t only stop seeing… I stop… working. I… is this some sort of illness? Can a God fall ill?!”. 

Georgij can distinctly hear Michele’s heart crumpling under the weight of a sorrowful sigh. Maybe… is this the right time to come out and hug him and tell him there’s nothing wrong? That he’s not ill and Georgij’s developing his same symptoms and they can heal each other… together? 

“I don’t know, you’re the God of Medicine, Michele! But this doesn’t seem an illness to me… have you tried to talk about your feelings with them? You know, this is probably simpler than you think, and you’ve only f…”. 

“Well, yes, I planned to!”. 

Michele suddenly raises his voice, drowning out Emil’s words before he can say something very compromising for him. Georgij curses under their breath for that missed opportunity but somewhere inside them they’re happy they’ve not witnessed by deceit a confession Michele should make only if he wants and only in the Waning Moon’s presence. 

“I planned to talk with them… I even invited that shady bastard here but I guess they don’t want to come… I’m… probably they’re not interested at all and I got everything wrong!”. 

Georgij holds their breath: is this the right time to step in? 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Michele! Give them time, they’ll probably come here, when you least expect it!”. 

Emil’s voice sounds really comforting but the God of Sun sighs again, sorrowfully, and… is this the right time? 

“Nah, I guess they won’t come…” 

“Then… would you like to guess again, Michele?”. 

Yes, _that_ was the right time. 

When they step out of the field, Georgij doesn’t take a good look at the world in front of them: the sunlight – so beautiful, yet so painful for their eyes – shines so bright, it almost blinds them and they’re too absorbed in striking the right pose for their entrance. A brief silence accompanies their bizarre greeting and Georgij feels Emil’s and Michele’s gazes on their black-and-blue cloaked figure. 

“Oooh, speaking of the devil… Good morning, Georgij!”. 

“Shut up, Emil! When… how long have you been here, Georgij?!”. 

Georgij’s appearance is stunning or, at least, that’s what Michele thinks. Others will probably find them somehow… intimidating? Well, not Emil, he would probably find their look funny or whatever, it’s not easy to scare him but _that look_. The paleness of their skin stands out even more against the darkness of their clothes and the sunlight – _his light_ – emphasises even more his figure: the Waning Moon is a creature of heavy contrasts between black and white, a ghost coming out from a Hell made of starless nights and cold whispers. 

The shadows that surround Georgij looks like a sea, in which Michele would like to drown – he has even already forgotten the fact they could have eavesdropped _something important_ from his previous conversation with Emil but it doesn’t matter anymore. As usual, the moment the Waning Moon has steps into his field of vision, his mind goes completely blank. 

 “Good morning, Emil! Oh, I’ve just arr… oh, well…”. 

There’s a long pause in which even Emil’s warm smile freezes. It takes Georgij some seconds to look at the two Gods and notice something fundamental. The Messenger of Deities is wearing his usual, short tunic, while Michele is lying over his big, purple cape… and that’s all. 

Not even in their wildest dreams Georgij ever imagined they could see the entirety of his taut body without any filters… not even a scrap of fabric, nothing at all. It’s not unusual for Deities to walk naked, they don’t know what decency is, they don’t need it, but still… what the Waning Moon is seeing right now is a sight they know they won’t ever forget, a sight that make their head spin and their mouth dry. 

“Well, well… you aren’t so… _not dressed_ when we usually meet, Michele…”. 

Their voice is a hoarse whisper, while Emil’s gaze goes from their face to Michele’s one and he has to suppress a laughter almost immediately. It takes longer to the God of Sun to realize it, instead: he’s used to stay naked during the day, it’s his Realm and, honestly, he generates so much heat that wearing clothes would be useless. He usually doesn’t even care if someone sees him like that, it’s his beautiful body and both mortals and Deities should feel honoured to have the privilege to see such a gorgeous piece of art. 

… but Georgij… 

“I… Oh, fu… Nights are cold, ok, and I can’t stand it! But now it’s summer, so, I can’t stand too many clothes and… oh, you are the strange one, walking in this hot weather covered from head to toes!”. 

Michele almost feels he has spoiled something, showing himself naked in front of the Waning Moon, as if he would’ve liked to wait for a more intimate moment, but it’s not even that the main problem. Fact is, Georgij’s looking at him and even if they’re trying their best not to be indiscreet, Michele can still feel their deep blue gaze caressing his olive skin. The Waning Moon seems so charmed by his appearance, he would like to have the courage to invite them to lie down beside him, over his cape, and then… 

… and then Emil is still there and Georgij part their tinted-lilac lips and say something that simultaneously sounds so obscene and so sweet, Michele has to hastily cover himself with his cape, before his body starts to have the sincerest – and most embarrassing – reactions ever. 

“Well, you know, my skin is delicate and the caress of your rays could burn me… well, not that I wouldn’t find your touch very pleasing…”. 

“Do you need a moment? Maybe it’s the right time for me to vanish in the air, poof!”. 

Emil makes a wide gesture with his right hand and then smiles at the two of them. Unlike his colleagues, he seems very comfortable or, at least, too curious to watch the events unfolding to care about decency or the palpable tension that’s growing between the Sun and the Waning Moon. 

He’s happy, above all, because Destiny – or Georgij’s romantic stubbornness, at least – is finally helping Michele to unravel the overcomplicated maze of regrets and fears where he has been getting lost for too many months. 

“Georgij! Emil!” Michele’s arrogant voice comes out as a confused bark but then the God of Sun calms down enough to look into his best friend’s eyes and breathe deeply. He won’t get anywhere if he doesn’t face one problem at a time… yeah, it all appears very simple but his heart is beating so loudly in the middle of his chest, it’s deafening him. 

Georgij should stop staring at him with those beautiful, deep blue eyes so full of affection, because they’re making his head feel so light, he could pass out at any moment. 

“Well, no, you’re… you’re right, Emil, maybe you should leave us alone… for real, though, don’t think about hiding behind a tree and spy on us!”. 

Michele points a finger toward his best friend, vomiting out words and curses in a desperate attempt to hide his embarrassment but it seems an impossible task to evade Georgij’s inquisitive gaze. And Emil… well, Emil knows practically _everything_ about him, so, he’s obviously laughing up his sleeves – the bastard! – because he has already seen through his mask of rage and scorn.  

“You’re so unfair, Michele! I would never do something so horrible!” Emil chirps merrily and Georgij can’t help but look at the Messenger of Deities and envy him: he’s so close to Michele, he can easily touch him, he can joke with him, he can even listen to his most intimate secrets… the Waning Moon would like to know what kind of magic do they need to obtain the keys to the God of Sun’s heart. 

“Well, goodbye, my dear lovebirds!”. 

“Emil!”. 

It takes only a few seconds for Emil to disappear from their sight. His way of moving is not very different from that of Georgij but instead of opening doors for the Underworld, he simply pierces through matter and Realms, deciding where to reappear in a heartbeat. 

Then silence falls again upon the two of them, while Michele looks really focused on searching for his best friend, to be sure he’s really gone. There’s no wind at all, only the distant buzz of cicadas and the subtle whispers of not-so-living things that always surrounds Georgij. The God of Sun finally remembers why he has so many problems standing too close to them and keep silent, his amethyst eyes still staring into space. 

“So, you wanted to talk with me…”. 

Georgij’s deep voice creeps inside his mind, filling it with thoughts and fears and questions, a lot of questions. Michele looks at them and bites his lower lip: he has to resist the urge to reach out and touch the pale skin of their muscular arms, barely showing under the long veil that covers both their head and shoulders. 

“Yes, well… have a sit, please, I’m… if you stand up, you’ll make me nervous… and I’m already nervous enough,” the God of Sun finally sighs and rights himself, trying his best to remain as much covered as possible, but his cape seems to slip from his fingers every time he moves. 

Georgij nods peacefully and take a closer look at the place in which they’re both standing: the field of wheat still looks like a vast sea, even more now that a light breeze is bending the long stems and creating illusory waves. What’s more fascinating is the fact that Michele’s sitting right in the middle of a border, the limit that divides the golden field from the dark green ocean of the forest. 

Georgij loves borders as much as they love crossroads, there are infinite possibilities in that infinitesimal space that divides one Realm from the other and so they don’t choose the comforting shadow of the pines. They sit right beside Michele, half of their body bathed by that bright light that threaten to blind them, and they look at him, at his beauty and at the shyness that’s veiling his amethyst eyes right now. 

Michele doesn’t talk. Michele seems so intimidated, Georgij knows that it’s their turn to do something. So, they start talking, opening their heart and hoping he can finally see what’s inside their chest, without fearing the deep shadows and their darkness anymore. 

“You know, I’m not used to stay outside for so long during the day, I’ve always found light… well, don’t feel offended, but I’ve always found it so… plain, too bright for my eyes, too scorching, but… I was wrong. When I laid my eyes on this crop of wheat… this is so beautiful, Michele, almost as much as you. I’ve never thought your light could make me feel so warm… I never thought the world could look so inspiring and awesome even when rid of all the darkness… so, I want to thank you for having shown me this new perspective”. 

Georgij’s voice is soft, their manners are kind and Michele looks at them in shock, because there’s so much affection in those words, he can’t pretend not to see it anymore. It’s so clear who’s that famous _someone_ Georgij’s fallen in love with, the mysterious person whose thought occupies their mind night and day, the God of Sun feels stupid. He feels stupid and inexperienced and, as always when he’s angry with himself, he lets out the wrong words at the wrong time. 

“Do you… have you ever used your witchcraft to charm someone, Georgij? Have you ever tried to win the heart of a person with your magical arts?”. 

There’s a sudden change in the atmosphere, Michele can sense it even without looking at Georgij’s face. The shadows that surround them, the long, dark green shadows of the trees that form the forest sacred to his sister, seem to completely engulf both of them. The air is cold, now, as if summer were only a distant memory but what makes the God of Sun shiver even more is the sad expression that crumples Georgij’s haughty features.  

“… we’ve talked about this only one time and I know…” they sigh, looking at their pale hands for a long instant; then their expression isn’t sad anymore and Michele is now facing two deep, blue eyes gleaming with anger and scorn. The subtle insinuation that they can win another person’s heart only by cheating is literally too much even for Georgij’s patience: they’re ready to accept every kind of insult from the God of Sun but the mere idea that Michele can distrust them so much, he even suspects that he’s being manipulated burns more than any fire he could’ve ever lighted in the Waning Moon’s heart. 

“I know I’ll never feel sorry enough for having thought about doing something so terrible… but aside from the time I tried to curse my lover, because she didn’t love me back anymore… I’ve never… ever… done something so disrespectful! And… I honestly feel so disappointed that you can think I am capable of manipulating another person only to obtain their love!”. 

“Then… how do you explain _this_?!”. 

Michele almost screams those words and immediately regrets them: he’s not angry at Georgij, even if he never imagined the Waning Moon could really get mad at someone… at him, but he supposes he’s been too dismissive toward them in the last period. That… that wasn’t the right way to voice his discomfort but, well, since they’re almost getting to the subject, he’s stubborn enough to continue this argument. 

He’s tired, tired of feeling confused. He’s also tired of seeing that perpetual look of pain on the Waning Moon’s face: it’s now or never, they need to clarify their situation but the more he struggles, the less he seems to grasp the heart of the problem. And he’s now afraid that the more he will talk, the more the only heart he will squeeze strongly enough to make it bleed will be that of Georgij. 

“How do you explain the confusion, the dizziness… how do you explain the fact that my heart is on the verge of bursting out every time I see you but… I feel like dying every time you leave? How do you explain the fact that thinking about you is enough to confuse me so much I even forget how to compose a verse? I lost all the words, I don’t know how to feel anymore… if this isn’t a curse than what?!”. 

Michele’s breathless when he finally stops talking, his face is even redder than his long, purple cape: he’s gesticulating wildly, trying to prove a point but he doesn’t even know what point exactly. He feels so damn stupid, it’s so obvious what kind of illness struck him but he’s still sitting in front of the Waning Moon, practically waiting for them to suggesting him the right words… he’s the God of Art and he needs someone else to write this poem for him… that’s preposterous! 

“Well, Michele… then I suspect you’re a better God of Witchcraft than me!” Georgij laughs – yes, they laugh loudly, almost startling the God of Sun – and they cover their tinted-lilac lips with one hand. That chaste gesture is enough to make Michele even more flustered but then the Waning Moon is looking right back at him and their deep blue eyes are trying their best to decipher his expression. 

Georgij’s both angry at and fascinated by the God of Sun’s reaction: he’s unexperienced and clumsy enough, when it comes to love, that he possesses the rare ability of hurting both himself and his unfortunate partner in a desperate attempt to understand what’s happening to him. Georgij supposes that too many eons of forced chastity have made the God of Art particularly helpless… and they’re here to help, yes, but also to teach him some lessons. And the first one is that being unexperienced isn’t an excuse to hurt other people’s feelings in the process of understanding how to behave properly. 

“How else can you explain that since the first time I met you, your thought is haunting me every single day of my life? Didn’t you curse me? Because how else can you explain that every time we’re too close, I feel so hot I could melt at any second? Your touch…” Georgij sighs for a brief moment and they can swear they hear Michele sighing with them, even shivering lightly when the Waning Moon starts murmuring those words. The God of Sun almost expects to feel Georgij’s touch on his skin, instead, but it doesn’t happen. 

The Waning Moon’s cruel enough to tempt him while staying still, using only their voice to chain him to the ground. 

“Oh, the simple idea of your touch on my skin burns, Michele, and I’m not talking about the heat of your light… I’m talking about the thirst… the desperate wish to be consumed by your hands even if they burned me to the bone… did you curse me, Michele?”. 

Michele jumps under his cape and, “I… well… I… no! I didn’t do anything!” he protests, leaning forward and forgetting he’s half naked and half scared of touching the Waning Moon. Georgij’s still sitting beside him, he can almost touch their hands but instead his fingers hold some blades of grass in an attempt to hold back that desperate urge of really consuming Georgij’s body under his palms, as they wish. 

“Nor do I, my dear…” the Waning Moon whispers and every trace of anger has already vanished from their face: Michele’s confusion is one of the softest things they’ve ever seen. They have loved countless times and every time their love was deep and sincere but this time is different. This time Georgij’s ready to do everything: to wait for decades, if it is necessary, or to take the first step and the risk of being rejected again and again. There will never be the perfect opportunity for the two of them, Michele has a lot to learn and now he’s here, looking at their black and blue figure, speechless. 

Maybe it’s Georgij’s turn to suggest him some words. 

“… sigh… I don’t know how would you call this but I can tell you one thing: for me, this isn’t a curse, this isn’t something bad. I… I fell in love with you, Michele. I didn’t plan it but it happened and I never regretted this feeling, not for a single moment…”. 

Michele shivers and finally looks at them: there’s surprise in his beautiful, amethyst eyes and Georgij can’t believe how much clueless the God of Sun is. They’d like to reassure him that this is not a dream or some sort of elaborate prank, their hands are so close, the Waning Moon tries to caress the back of his hand with the tips of their fingers but Michele notices that subtle movement and shies away, not even fully aware of that knee-jerk reaction.  

Georgij closes their eyes, briefly, but stands still, before letting out a painful sigh that shakes every inch of their being. Their expression is barely visible under the shadow of their veil but the sorrow in their voice is so clear, Michele can’t ignore it: “… but I see that even my presence makes you suffer and I can’t possibly force you to accept my love, so… tell me one word and I’ll disappear from your life in no time”. 

“No!” the God of Sun screams and this time he reaches for them, even if his long fingers barely grasp the hem of Georgij’s veil. It’s enough to make them stay, while he tries his best to find the right words. The sun shines so bright upon their heads, it’s almost like they’re swimming in a sea of white light: this is his Realm, he can’t be defeated by his fears so easily, he can’t let it happen again. 

“Oh, fu… you got it all wrong! The fact that you’re in love with me isn’t the problem, here… oh, for the love of… did you really say it?! Are you… Are you in love me?!”. 

“Why does that sound so crazy to you?” Georgij makes a sympathetic smile. For them this is both kind of funny and cute but Michele’s really bewildered: no one has ever told him they were interested in him, let alone straight up confess him _they were in love with him_. He has never entertained the possibility of being in love, it has always been some kind of strange state of mind that didn’t belong to someone like him. His chaste love for his sister should have been enough and the fact that the first time he fell in love with a human, said human preferred the company of someone else was a sign… or so he has believed for all this time. 

And now Georgij is beside him, smiling like the most beautiful creature born from the darkness he has ever laid his eyes upon and Michele is at loss of words… again. Maybe being honest is the only way – even if it makes him feel deeply embarrassed. 

“I… honestly I don’t know. But… huff… Listen to me carefully: I… this is the first time this kind of thing happens to me. I… I know what it means to fall in love, look! But this time… it hurts so bad, it scares me… I can’t die but this feeling of falling apart every time I think about losing you… I can’t stand it! And… even worst… there are the voices!”. 

“What voices?”. 

Georgij knows already the answer but nevertheless asks him and their intermission gives Michele the time to take a deep breath and try to explain himself better. His voice almost shakes, while he starts dissecting the one thing that’s bugging him since the first time he met the Waning Moon, the thing that prevents him from fully enjoying their company. 

“The ones that surround you! Every time I try to touch you, I feel them! I feel… presences… like you’re not alone… like there are multiple versions of you in front of me and I fear that some of them can… hurt me? No, this is not the exact feeling… but I don’t understand... and I’d like to know… what they are… what… what you are, what does it mean all of this!”. 

“I can explain you, my dear…”. 

Georgij’s smile becomes a melancholic line: that’s an explanation they’ve already given so many times, they can repeat it by heart. All they hope is Michele’s hand will still hold the hem of their veil by the end of it. All they hope is the God of Sun’s beautiful amethyst eyes will be filled with understanding and not fear anymore. 

“You know what my job is, huh?” the Waning Moon starts in a soft whisper, as if they were talking with a stubborn child, and Michele nods quietly, completely absorbed in their speech. 

“I accompany mortal souls to the Underworld and every time my hand touches them to guide them, a part of those souls sticks with me… forever. There’re countless stories in those voices, Michele, and if you’d like, you could listen to them. None of them wants to hurt you but a lot of those ghosts have suffered and… I know that pain is hard to stand. I can imagine that every time you’re too close to me, you feel all that pain and sorrow and you wish to run away… But I can’t change this… I _won’t_ change it”. 

Georgij briefly pauses and by the time they open their eyes, Michele’s hand is still there, gripping tightly their veil and barely touching the naked skin of their shoulder. He shivers lightly at that contact but instead of shying away, he forces himself to stand still, facing the Waning Moon’s proud gaze without hesitation. 

There’s still confusion in his amethyst eyes, though, and that view squeezes Georgij’s heart, hard. They would do anything to clear his mind, if only the God of Sun let them take him by the hand but since they still can’t touch him with their fingers, they can only hope to reach him with their words. Isn’t it ironic, trying to win the God of Art’s heart using words he’s probably already put in countless verses before? 

“Probably I’ve got too used to them, I usually don’t even mind their presence, they’re a part of me… and I understand if you prefer to avoid my company, since they can make you feel uncomfortable…”. 

“Don’t… don’t rush things, please,” Michele cuts him out, shaking his head vigorously. They don’t like that habit of Georgij of apologising for every, little thing they do, especially when they’re talking of something they can’t control, something that is deeply rooted in their nature… he can’t help but look at his hand, the one still gripped tightly around Georgij’s veil, and remember why _he_ is so afraid of letting go. 

“I… I think this explanation can really help me pull some threads together…”. 

“Take your time, my dear, I won’t pressure you”. 

Georgij can’t hide the joy that almost makes them sing instead of actually reply to Michele’s words, but the God of Sun is still there: his light is caressing their pale skin and he’s leaning toward them, unsure of what his next move should be. He can be unexperienced, but his Eyesight still works very well and he can see… he can _feel_ Georgij’s excitement. Even the ghostly aura that surrounds them seems to glow brightly in response to his reactions and, yes, that is something he likes to see. He would like to see those deep, blue eyes filled with even more glee, but what he can possibly… 

“Yeah, yeah, thank you… can I touch you? Err… I mean, _not in that way_! Not now, at least… I mean…”. 

Michele feels like he’s making a fool of himself and this is one of those moment when he can hear Sara scolding him for having avoid any kind of social interaction until now but… whatever, it seems that Georgij is more amused than annoyed by his clumsiness. 

“Can I touch you first? Can I try to get used to those… presences?”, he tries to correct himself and the Waning Moon nods quietly, resisting the urge to reply that the God of Sun can touch them as much as he wants and _in every way possible_. 

“I don’t want you to force yourself, my dear Michele, but if you want… yes, you can”. 

Georgij shows him the palm of their hand, pale like the rest of their skin, with an encouraging smile on their face. Then… they wait. 

This is not how Michele imagined this kind of affairs went between two people, but he has always tried his best not to get interested in love matters and he suspects human poems tend to paint everything that concerns love rosier than it is in reality. No one talks enough about all the doubts and the pain and the… thirst. Georgij’s hand is so close, he’s too curious to refuse that gentle offer. He wants to touch them so bad, he reaches for their hand quicker than both of them expected. His heartbeat is so deafening for a moment he doesn’t even hear them… the voices.  

He can’t hear nor feel, he’s so concerned and afraid, he even holds his breath. He starts perceiving the world that surrounds him little by little, ignoring what he already understands – the light, the heat, the lazy breeze, the melodious buzz of the cicadas, the blue sky upon his head – and focusing only on that little space that’s connecting him to the Waning Moon. 

He closes his eyes and his attention his all for the feeling of Georgij’s palm under his fingers: their skin is cold, like a winter night, and their presence is… subtle and overwhelming at the same time. His ears gradually readjust to the whisper that starts to grow, coiling around his wrist and up to his upper arm like a snake, until it reaches his neck. 

He shivers lightly, holding back the impulse of running away that straightens his spine and tightens his jaw, but Georgij’s hand stands still. That calmness is reassuring, even if the whispers are multiplying and the voices are starting to talk into his ear, telling stories he’s not so sure he wants to know. He has never really considered what Death is – they’re Deities, they won’t die, at least not in the sense that most humans think – but he never imagined it was such a traumatic event for most of them. 

He wonders how Georgij can stand all those voices, all that pain and horror, without letting them taint their soul… without going crazy, because it’s so suffocating, he almost wants to burn all those presences with his powers. But then something different creeps under the surface, the feeling that he’s finally touching the Waning Moon. He can tighten his grip and feel the steady pulse of their heartbeat under his fingertips, he can imagine the path of their blood, running through the veins and reaching their heart… he would like to follow that path, to touch them more, even if it means being completely shrouded by their ghostly aura, surrounded by those voices and that deep shadow that reminds him of another space and time… 

“So… How does it feel?”. 

Georgij’s voice, soft and low, suddenly drowns out every other sound and Michele opens his eyes, only to find them gazing at him with a fascinated look in their deep, blue eyes. Only then the God of Sun notices his grip around the Waning Moon’s wrist has become very strong, so strong that the moment he releases his grip, he sees he’s just left five, rosy marks on their pale skin. 

“So… sorry… it’s… it’s strange… not in a bad way but definitely… strange…”. 

Why didn’t they tell him he was squeezing their arm too much? Did they crave his touch so much, they didn’t even care if it hurt? 

“Don’t worry, it was kinda… hot but it didn’t hurt me… so… strange? Not scary?”. 

Michele looks at Georgij’s enraptured expression and nods quietly. Why don’t they talk more? How many… how many thoughts they’ve been hiding since the first time they met? Why didn’t Georgij tell him they desired his company so badly? The God of Sun can clearly see how happy that contact is making the Waning Moon, because they’re smiling, a real smile, not one of those melancholic smirks they usually make. 

They surely like to brag a lot about their skills and appearance but even in that case Michele has never seen Georgij smiling as they’re doing in this moment, right in front of him. It’s a strange feeling, that makes him both proud and sad, because he doesn’t know if he will be able to make that smile re-appear again. 

“I never thought your touch could be… well, I thought you were a lot more scorching… instead it was kinda… _pleasurable_ ”. 

Georgij whispers into his ear, so close that Michele can feel their breath against his skin. He shivers but, “Well, I’m doing my best not to inadvertently burn you, Georgij,” he’s ready to reply, even if for the first time in his life he’s starting to feel really hot… he, the God of Sun. 

“That’s very considerate but remember…” the Waning Moon starts to talk, before pausing. Michele can clearly sense their impatience, the way they’re trying their best to resist the urge to touch him back, to move their long, pale fingers all over his body and… oh, no, he’s half-naked, this isn’t the right moment to think about such things! 

“… I’m a Deity like you, it’s not so easy to hurt me. So… feel free to loosen up, if you want”. 

Michele completely turns his head to face Georgij: they’re smiling softly and he can’t stop looking at their lilac-tinted lips, at the thin curve that forms a smile. He wonders how does it feel to touch those lips, if they’re really cold as the rest of the Waning Moon’s skin, what kind of taste they have, if he… 

“Yes, but I don’t want to bur…”. 

Michele’s still talking when he raises his hand and ends up touching the corner of Georgij’s mouth with the tip of his thumb. That movement is so slow yet so unexpected, the Waning Moon jumps lightly, before giving him a puzzled look. 

“Oh, fu… sorry, that was too much…”. 

“No, please! Just… don’t stop touching me…”. 

Michele doesn’t know what burns more in that moment: his fingers against Georgij’s face, Georgij’s words all over his skin, his cheeks, brutally reddened by the shame. He should step back, take a deep breath and cool down, but the Waning Moon is so close, so… ready, he leans forward – eyes closed and jaw tightened – and he kisses them. 

Well, “kissing Georgij” was the original plan but the final result is more like him crushing his mouth against that of Georgij and almost breaking their teeth in the process. They both stand still: Georgij’s too surprised to make any move, while Michele’s regretting all his life choices in the brief span of a second. He’s already thinking of moving away and apologising for his behaviour, when Georgij’s lips part softly and they kiss him back. 

It’s the most forgiving gesture someone has ever made towards him and it’s so sweet Michele’s the one who’s afraid of melting at any moment. Then Georgij gives him another, light kiss and the God of Sun finally relaxes enough to let them kiss him again and this time he can feel how soft their lilac-tinted lips are. They’re not as cold as he thought or maybe he’s warming up the Waning Moon with his touch, but it doesn’t matter. What it really matters is the way Georgij’s kissing him, the taste he can barely feel on the tip of his tongue, every time they both part their lips a little more, their long, pale fingers around his wrists, the way they brush lightly his skin without daring to touch him too much. 

The voices are still there, somewhere in the background, but they’re completely drowned out by the sound of Georgij’s breath over his cheek and that of their heartbeat, echoing against his mouth and inside his skull. It’s like floating in a sea of light and darkness mixed together, he feels so lightheaded he could even faint, if the Waning Moon’s hand weren’t keeping him chained to the ground. 

He could go on like this forever, interweaving one light kiss after the other as if he were making a laurel crown, but Georgij suddenly stops, forcing both of them to catch their breath and look at each other. The look on the Waning Moon’s face is that of absolute veneration and it’s embarrassing to look straight in their deep, blue eyes, completely filled with love, but Michele guesses that his expression isn’t so different right now. He’s sure his lips are probably as red as those of Georgij – they don’t seem so lilac-tinted anymore. 

“I… sorry, that was really sudden, I… I should’ve asked first…”. 

His voice comes out as a horrible squawking but Georgij smiles and shakes their head and, “Don’t apologize, it was the best surprise I’ve ever received in… well, ages!” they reply with his same, hoarse tone. Their long, pale fingers are eagerly caressing his wrist and forearm with slow, circular moves and the God of Sun can sense how much the Waning Moon wishes to protract that sweet contact and he doesn’t honestly want to stop them. He wants to feel even more the soothing touch of their silky fingertips and their mouth… he needs to taste it some more to understand how much addicting it could be. 

“Oh… well… then I don’t mind if we… uh… you like to kiss me again…” he asks him nevertheless and he’s already shivering in anticipation, when Georgij leans forward… before stopping suddenly. 

“Are you sure? Aren’t my voices… disturbing you?”. 

“I… oh, no, I don’t give a fu… I mean… No, they don’t bother me. To be quite honest, I almost forgot them, I was focusing on… other things… most important things… like you. Your body… your… your mouth, your fingers, the way you were touch… please, can you kiss me and make me stop saying embarrassing things?! I beg you!” Michele desperately utters and Georgij starts laughing so loudly, they end up shaking their shoulders under their long veil. 

“Oh, well, my dear… if you implore me so much, I can’t resist you,” they tease him but before Michele can reply scornfully, five, pale fingers caress him gently under his chin, making him raise his head and face their intent stare. Then they give him a small kiss on the tip of his nose and Michele can’t help but smile back in the most stupid and enamoured way ever. One second later they’re kissing again but this time the God of Sun doesn’t have time to bother about the Waning Moon’s ghostly aura: their lips part slowly but inexorably and what started as a light kiss becomes something different, deeper and more captivating. 

By the time he has closed his eyes, Michele can feel the tip of Georgij’s tongue caressing the inside of his cheek, he can finally feel their taste and it’s like a shred of night has come to surround him completely and he does want to let go. He lets Georgij takes the lead, their hand reaching for his neck and guiding him into a kiss that’s taking away both his breath and his sanity. He would like to move more, he would like to hug them and kiss them back with the same enthusiasm but he’s still half-naked and they’re sitting in the weirdest position ever and he doesn’t know… he’s both too excited and too confused to do something. So, for this time, he lets Georgij guide him without a protest, he dismisses that feeling that’s bugging him since that night, a few months before. 

Georgij’s hands are still there, one gripping his wrist, the other caressing his hair. They don’t try to go further, they don’t urge him, and it’s both reassuring and frustrating, because Michele is torn between absolute fear and a lust so deep that’s burning him. It’s a sunny summer afternoon but it’s the first time since he has a conscience that the God of Sun feels so hot it’s like something is burning his heart from the inside. 

It’s a strange feeling, but not in a bad sense. It feels good and he definitely wants to feel it again and again.

 


	5. #5: The Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Waning Moon arises from the underground sea like a gentle wave, leaps out of the smooth surface like a reflection of their silver light against the water. Georgij belongs to the sea of the Caves of Nyx, like they are made of the same, dark and shiny water, and Michele can’t help but stare in awe. He knows how it feels, when a Deity finds the right place to live and their material body almost melts, fusing with the elements that surround them and letting their powers submerge every speck of conscience they have. 
> 
> It’s a lot like losing control and that’s why he prefers not to do it too often but the Waning Moon doesn’t seem bothered by his kind of problems: they swim, they dive and then come out again, blending in with the water and the shadows without any fear of succumbing to their powers. Michele would like to call them, to break that spell but it’s almost impossible for him to look the other way: that is a show he would’ve found dreadful, some time before, but it now looks so fascinating, he only wants to find the right words to chant that beauty to the entire world outside of the Caves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally DID IT. Sorry for the very late update, but the last two weeks were really frenzied and I didn't have the time to revise the chapter and to publish it. But enough with the small talk, there's not very much I can say about this chapter... except for the fact that, yes, Christophe is the Deity of Love - and is a non binary Deity - and, yes  
> It will happen _things_.  
>  I didn't use "Eventual Smut" tag out of turn *coff coff* and I'm deeply sorry if my English isn't perfect - I need to improve a lot, UGH.  
> Whatever, I've talked enough, have fun~!

_And I've crossed the line again_    
 _A line I drew in sand_    
 _Still you give me everything_    
 _And everything's not enough_    
 ** _(I feel loved |_** ** _Depeche_** ** _Mode)_**

The day is his Realm. He’s the Sun, he can do _everything_ , once his light finds a way to shine. Humans are nevertheless convinced something as inconsistent as rain can stop him. The places a storm can reach are quite limited, clouds can barely overshadow his white light and it doesn’t matter how powerful and destructive a storm can be: after all, the Sun still raises every morning.

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate water with all his might. Even more than the annoying rain, what really bothers him are the endless depths of the oceans, though. There are too many places his light and his Eyesight never reached, places in which strange life forms thrive in the darkness, feed on darkness, create even more darkness and hate his power so much, it could almost kill them.

He doesn’t like to give up control and he doesn’t like how much water can oppose him. He’s always avoided rainy days, choosing sunnier places while waiting for the storm to pass. In past that meant going to south during autumn and winter and coming back to the forests Sara loves the most, as soon as the storms and the hurricanes seemed to reach his new abode.

“Can you explain to me… why are you following me?!”.

The fact he’s roaming said forests while wind and rain make every single leaf horribly damp and rotten it should be a mystery or the result of a sudden change of heart… but only in the eyes of the misinformed ones. There’s a precise place he must reach and not even an autumnal afternoon – with its heavy-rain grey sky and the dampened air stirred by the north wind – will stop him.

“But I’m not following you at all! It’s your fault, you’re practically attracting me like a magnet with all the _love_ you’ve been spreading around the last weeks!”.

Michele catches a flutter of golden wings with the corner of his eye and then something – _someone_ – who shines like a splinter of pure, blinding light perches on a wet branch right upon his head, forcing him to stop and look back, in order to look the newcomer right into his light-blue eyes.

“I’m not spreading _anything_. So, you can, I dunno, go fuck yourself, since you can probably do _that_ _,_ too”.

Sara often says his temperament can become quite nasty from time to time but he can’t help it: sometimes his feelings are simply _too much_ to cope with them peacefully and the only way he knows to react is to _burn_ everything that surrounds him, either with his power or his words.

Christophe’s presence – their same existence – has always been something difficult to accept for Michele: they came before the Light, they were there when the universe was nothing more than darkness and chaos, they give him the power to shine, like a Holy Parent ready to sacrifice a part of themselves to give birth to their child.

He can’t help but _love_ the Deity of Love in a way that has nothing to do with the kind of emotions he feels for Georgij. It’s more similar to the love of a child for his parent but, even more, it’s a matter of loving himself, too, because he’s made of that same love light he has always refused to acknowledge for eons, by now.

And every time Christophe presents themselves in front of him, it’s like being slapped in the face by the knowledge that he can’t escape it: he _has to_ love someone else.

But why did it have to be a creature of the Darkness?!

“Mmh, yeah, I could but I prefer some company… it makes everything more interesting, don’t you think?”.

Christophe reclines on the branch, looking at him with a sardonic smile, and Michele sighs, shaking his head. He’s ready to turn his back on them and go his own way when, “It’s what you’re doing right now, uh? Searching for company of a certain someone, instead of flying off this rainstorm… I didn’t expect you to grow so much, to be honest,” the God of Love utters, touching a raw nerve.

“Did you come here to mock me?!” Michele snaps at him, fists clenched and a threatening, bright aura suddenly surrounding his muscular body. He’s merely showing off – he knows too well his power is nothing, compared to the blinding, pure light even only Christophe’s wings can emanate, but the Deity of Love quietly smirks and rests their chin on their hand.

“More like… I’m here to warn you” they utter in a low voice and Michele looks at them, deeply confused but still anxious to know _who knows what_ the Deity of Love is about to say. Christophe takes their time and lazily looks at their nails, their blond, curly hair that frames their calm expression, while the God of Sun’s patience runs dangerously short.

“You don’t even want to be here for one more minute… you can’t stand the physical distance from Georgij… yet, you still try to hold back… it’s dangerous, Michele, it hurts you and, honestly, it pains me to feel all these restrained feelings you won’t set free. And you’ll hurt yourself even more, if you insist on being so stubborn… it’s not funny to look at you in that state, believe me”.

“And why? Because you’re older than me?” Michele tries to challenge him with his most defiant look but Christophe dismisses his pale attempt to tease him with a light wave of their free hand, before loudly clicking their tongue.

“Because I’ve never been afraid to acknowledge what could be inside myself, Michele… and, yes, you can interpret my words however you like”.

Michele tries his best to ignore the wink that accompanies that sentence but it’s too late: the mental image is quite devastating for his already fragile nerves and it’s something that has been haunting his wildest dreams for weeks, by now.

“I’m not afraid of _anything_ ” he cries out and he’s the first to not believe in those words, not even for a single second. Christophe notices his discomfort and shrugs, spreading their wings to shake off the water from their golden feathers. For a moment every single drop of rain shines like a little diamond and then the gloominess of that autumnal afternoon is back again.

“Yeah, yeah, if that’s what you think, very good… but remember, Michele. Every decision you’ll make in the next future… try not to let your judgement be clouded by your prejudice, uh?”.

Michele’s amethyst eyes light up at those words and before he could reply in any way, Christophe is casually adding, “You’ll lose control, if you want to, not if Love deceives you. I don’t deceive anyone. Since I came in this universe, Living Beings chose to trick themselves and then put the blame on me… but that’s their problem, not mine”.

There’s a distinct hint of discomfort in Christophe’s low voice and their light blue eyes stop looking at Michele to stare at something distant and unreal, something that’s not there. The God of Sun can’t help but feel guilty about that last statement. He has always been very quick to blame others for those deep, dark fears that have always gripped his heart in a vice but he’s starting to entertain the possibility that even falling in love was his choice.

“I’m not… well, uh, I suppose you’re right”.

He doesn’t have the strength to argue with Christophe and he’s starting to feel really tired: maybe the Deity of Love is right even about that, maybe it’s time, for him, to stop fighting back those feelings and start trusting his senses a little bit more… especially since he knows he can at least trust Georgij’s sincere openness.

“But… I’ll still do what I want… in the end”.

“Well, that’s what you’ve already done until now, Michele. And, yes, I know I’m always right,” Christophe chuckles, making Michele loudly puff. He’s still really impatient: Time is a relative concept for Deities like them but he’s still in a hurry: there’s a place he wants to reach, a place he’s both afraid of and eager to visit.

The sooner he reaches it, the sooner he stops feeling that fear… or at least, that’s what he hopes.

Christophe disappears in the same way they made their appearance: the Deity of Love doesn’t really go away, it’s more like their physical appearance vanishes in the thin air and there’s only the lingering feeling of a silent entity that imbues the very same weft of the reality.

Michele chooses not to pay too much attention to that feeling and his journey to a distant, unknown place begins again.

He doesn’t have to cover a big distance – he could have been there in the blink of an eye but walking, even under the rain, helps him cooling down. This is the first time he chooses to pay a visit to Georgij in their abode: the Waning Moon is the one that usually comes to see him or they meet in one of the crossroads where they usually wait for the lost souls in search of a guide.

It was his choice to ask them where they usually spend the day, where was the place Georgij loved to live the most in the hidden folds of the Earth.

“ _A cave,_ ” was Georgij’s first response but then they added something else in a chuckle, with that low voice that makes Michele deeply shiver every single time. 

“ _Well, to be more precise it’s an underground lake hidden in the depths of an ancient cave. It was the first home of_ _Nyx_ _, you know?_ ” they concluded, before caressing his cheek with their fingertips and for a moment Michele was too busy imagining those fingers somewhere else, he almost forgot Georgij had just mentioned “darkness” and “dark waters” in the same place.

Well, whatever.

The mouth of the Caves of Nyx is nothing more than a dark, deep rift between the patches of yellowish vegetation that covers the slopes of one of the highest mountains of the region. It’s so dark and gloomy, Michele can’t practically see anything else than shadows and not even his Eyesight can help him distinguish anything.

He suspects is place is damper than the forest he’s just left but he can’t stand the constant ticking of the rain anymore, even if his light boils every drop of water that dares to touch his olive skin. That same light, his most beloved power, can’t split the darkness that oozes out of the cave with its long shadows like tentacles coiling around his ankles.

He’s afraid and he can admit it, at least to himself. He can’t see. He can’t know what’s waiting for him after crossing the rocky mouth of the Caves of Nyx. He has to trust the Waning Moon’s word that nothing dangerous inhabits their abode and even if, yes, deep inside himself he’s sure he can trust Georgij, he has still a lot of problems to accept that total eclipse of every light.

He breathes deeply – his aura slightly trembling, like a candle in the wind – and then he sets foot into the cave. It’s cold: that’s the first thing he can feel, while the darkness starts engulfing him and devouring every speck of light that emanates from his divine figure. He tries not to focus on the sensation – long fingers that brush his olive skin, empty eyes that follow each and every of his movements… things that lurk in the dark, hungry for the blinding light of a life they can’t have anymore.

They’re probably only the faded remnants of the ghosts who once met the Waning Moon, he’s not walking into the Realm of Living Things anymore, after all. The more he goes into the Caves, the more he crosses that thin veil that barely separates the world he usually live in from the Realm of Deads… but he doesn’t quite enter in the last.

The Caves of Nyx are placed in a borderland, after all, and that suits Georgij very well: they’ve always preferred to inhabit the fringes of their Universe, seeping from one Realm to the other like the deep, dark water that flows in the Ocean’s depths. It’s only that thought – the inescapable presence of the Waning Moon in every nook and cranny of that unknowable place – that gives him enough courage to go on. Not a single part of his being touches the rocks, though, and he’s but a lonely firefly in a vast sea of night and silence.

He doesn’t follow a particular direction, he’s pretty convinced the cave develops in only one direction, more similar to a tunnel than to a proper underground world. What he doesn’t immediately notice is that the Caves of Nyx are a complicated maze of tunnels and open spaces, an infinite sequence of underground crossroads that suits well the nature and the powers of their owner.

And, in all truth, he’s actually trying to follow something in those dark alleys: Georgij’s presence permeates those places, he can sense it and it’s a feeble luminescence, radically different from his light in both its colour and nature. He follows those traces, holding on to them as if they were a ghostly thread, his only escape route from that realm of sadness and silence.

The more he walks, the more Georgij’s aura grows strong, until he can’t feel anymore the thin veil of grief that covers every rock and every pond in the Caves. The usual presence of the remembrances of the ghosts gives way to the most intimate part of the Waning Moon’s essence, that part accurately hidden under layers of clothes and otherworldly presences that makes his blood boil in anticipation.

His Eyesight comes back so gradually, he needs more than a minute to notice he’s finally seeing again the world that surrounds him. There are infinite hues of black in the underground hall he suddenly sets foot in, hues that he has never seen in his exhaustingly long life, hues that the Waning Moon’s silvery light enhances even more.

It’s a strange, crystallised forest the one Michele’s crossing, utterly dead and still on the surface but swarming with invisible, feverish life just under the thin crust of the rock. The ghostly luminescence creates minuscule rainbows, when it caresses the water, and bounces off every drop of water that falls from an extremely high roof, making them look like perfectly rounded gems. Michele’s astonishment, though, is soon replaced by scorn, when he looks down the entrance, noticing what is lying on the floor of the central hall of the Caves of Nyx.

Water.

An immense, dark and cold body of water stretches as far as the eye can see, lapping at the rocky shores that surround it. It’s calm as a lake but vast as the sea and the ground, less darker than the water, resurfaces here and there in little peninsulas and convoluted archipelagos.

Michele deeply sighs and then starts descending toward the element he hates the most, because it doesn’t matter how much dark and wet that hall is, Georgij’s presence in every, single drop of water is so strong, it can easily make him forget every hardship.

He’d like to call them to feel their reassuring presence instead of walking alone but, instead, the God of Sun reaches the shore and start floating over the underground sea – searching with his Eyesight for a sudden, silver spark that would indicate their presence.

They’re not his eyes, though, the firsts to notice Georgij. A distinct, light movement of the otherwise still surface of the lake reaches his eardrums and makes him turn his head, the moment he stands on a wide tongue of land, near the centre of the lake.

The Waning Moon arises from the underground sea like a gentle wave, leaps out of the smooth surface like a reflection of their silver light against the water. Georgij belongs to the sea of the Caves of Nyx, like they are made of the same, dark and shiny water, and Michele can’t help but stare in awe. He knows how it feels, when a Deity finds the right place to live and their material body almost melts, fusing with the elements that surround them and letting their powers submerge every speck of conscience they have.

It’s a lot like losing control and that’s why he prefers not to do it too often but the Waning Moon doesn’t seem bothered by his kind of problems: they swim, they dive and then come out again, blending in with the water and the shadows without any fear of succumbing to their powers. Michele would like to call them, to break that spell but it’s almost impossible for him to look the other way: that is a show he would’ve found dreadful, some time before, but it now looks so fascinating, he only wants to find the right words to chant that beauty to the entire world outside of the Caves.

“Michele! So, you came!”.

Their low voice reaches him before he can look into their deep, blue eyes and crawls under his olive skin like a soft premonition of a pleasure that will soon arrive.

“Yeah… yeah, it took me a while to find the way… sort of…”.

Michele is at a loss of words, his mouth is dry and his tongue refuses to move. Georgij swims through the sea, cutting the slick as oil surface in half with the moves of a dolphin, and the God of Sun can see glimpses of their white, naked skin; the God of Sun can feel his own, red blood boiling in his veins, even hotter than his rays of light.

He’d like to forget everything else, dive into the water in this same moment and join Georgij. The only thing that he wants right now, the only desire that’s burning him down to the bone is to hold the Waning Moon tight into his arms and never let them go… but he’s still afraid. He’s still afraid of the things that can wait for him in the underground sea. He’s still afraid of desiring too much and burning the Waning Moon, too, in an intense blaze.

Can he really loosen up without a second thought?

He doesn’t know it yet, so, he simply let his purple himation fall on the ground and he sits on the shore of the tongue of land he has reached. He waits for Georgij, his left leg bent against his torso and his right one stretched enough that his foot can almost touch the calm surface of the black water.

He lightly sighs when he feels its cold touch against the tip of his toes but his sigh becomes a deep shiver, that shakes his spine and his nerves, when it’s Georgij’s ghostly aura that caresses his olive skin, even before their white, long fingers can touch him.

“You could’ve called for my help, I would’ve welcomed you at the entrance of the Caves and guided you into the darkness,” Georgij smiles softly. The way they’re looking at Michele is even softer, like the touch of their fingertips on his foot: they don’t want to scare him, not now that the God of Sun is so lonely and vulnerable. All the Waning Moon wants is to adore him, for being there with them, for bringing a sliver of the brightest and warmest light of the Sky in the darkest and coldest place on Earth.

They feel at peace and they only wish to make Michele feel the same, trusting them enough to leave behind every fear.

“Well, you seemed quite busy just a minute ago… and I thought it was up to me to find the right way,” Michele whispers, less sarcastic than he’d like to sound, his amethyst gaze completely absorbed in contemplating Georgij’s profile, their wet hair down their forehead, their naked shoulders standing just a few inches away from his touch.

The God of Sun could just lean forward and embrace the Waning Moon, let his own hands feverishly trace the curve of every muscle showing under their pale skin, but his chest is so heavy with that burning desire, he only holds out his hand to them.

“You’re so funny, Michele, you always think everything has to be some kind of test,” Georgij chuckles, before taking his hand. It’s warm and rough and it’s their turn to shiver and resist the urge of pulling the God of Sun down, to draw him in the endless embrace of the water.

“But I don’t wanna test you. I wanna help you, if you let me, and I want to enjoy your company as long as possible… only if you wish it, too, obviously…”.

Georgij kisses the back of his hand and then turns it, only to reach the tender inside of his wrist and place another, deep kiss on it, just to feel his heartbeat against his lips. Michele almost forgets how to breath, his eyelids half-closed while his mind is already imagining all the things Georgij’s mouth can do to him – _already_ _did_ _to him_ during their meetings in the last two months. He falls silent and lets the Waning Moon’s lips tickling the palm of his hand, carefully tracing every line, until they reach his fingers; he lets the tip of their tongue gently delineates each phalanx, until it’s the sharp edge of their white teeth that lightly nips at his knuckles.

Impatience arises in his chest, while the God of Sun wonders when those lips will go up the muscled curve of his calf, when will that tongue tickle the sensitive skin of the back of his knee, when will those teeth sink in the tender flesh of his thighs, when will that mouth go down between his...

“Why are you still there… in the water? Why don’t you… don’t you join me?”he suddenly mumbles in an equally exasperated and excited sigh. Georgij smiles against his olive skin and looks up at his amethyst eyes, before whispering in an almost inaudible hush, “You see, I’m naked, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable but I can retrieve my garments and…”.

“Tsk. If you want to stay naked I have no problem with it. _At all_. It would honestly make me more uncomfortable if you’d move away from me, even for a few seconds, right now… uhm…”.

Michele immediately regrets that sudden burst of honesty and his cheeks become a bright shade of red but Georgij nods and places another quick kiss on his fingertips, before letting go of his hand.

“Rest assured I won’t leave you, _my dear_ ,” they tell him, before both their palms gently hold Michele’s ankles and make him shiver violently, his golden aura that lights up, revealing the excited impatience of its owner.

“And, after all, it’s only fair. I could take a glimpse of you _splendid_ body,” they explain, while their white hands slowly go up Michele’s calfs and knees, carefully feeling his taut legs, “You are more than authorised to see me without my clothes”.

The God of Sun gulps loudly and Georgij can feel it under their fingertips: his impatience, his desire, the violent shiver under his skin, his heartbeat increasing dramatically, when their head almost touches his groin, before passing his stomach and reaching his face. His amethyst eyes glisten even in that realm of complete darkness, mesmerising the Waning Moon so much, they don’t even dare to break the tension to kiss his full lips.

“I missed you,” they finally whisper, their low voice ringing into Michele’s ears and making him raise his arms, to embrace the Waning Moon. The physical distance makes his heart ache like it’s being ripped apart but the God of Sun can’t help but take a careful look at Georgij’s body, the way their skin lightly glows in the darkness, how the shadows delineates the curves of their muscles, the rapt expression on their enamoured face – charming even without the lilac make-up that usually colours their lips and eyelids.

He could answer their tender plea in many ways but while his calloused fingers caress their neck, Michele’s mouth lets out only two simple words.

“Me too”.

It’s only when Michele’s arms are around their shoulders, only when a soft, suggestive smile appears on his face, that Georgij finally leans forward and kisses him on his mouth. They’re both hungry and impatient, all teeth and tongue, ready to devour the other in a desperate effort to keep their presence with them even when they have to be apart. Michele tastes of infinite sunny noondays, golden corn fields and clear skies on the tip of Georgij’s tongue: it’s like a breath of fresh air in the heavy atmosphere of that murky cavern that is their home but the Waning Moon cannot possess his warm, blinding light, they can only hope to be good enough to reflect it like an adoring mirror.

Georgij leaves instead a briny taste in the back of Michele’s mouth, every single one of their kisses drowns the God of Sun, leaving him breathless and desperate for more. Their hands and lips are cold like the darkest hour of the darkest night of the year and, as much as the most intense cold, their touch is scorching and leaves behind invisible marks inside Michele, awakening things he thought he forgo eons ago.

The God of Sun draws them near, he lets them pushing him down, against the cold and sharp rocks that sting even through the heavy fabric of his purple himation but he doesn’t care: all he wants is to feel their fingers tracing spirals all over his body, nails plunging into his olive skin and the candid linen of his tunic. All he wants is to feel the weight of the Waning Moon’s body against his ribcage, upon his stomach, their naked hips that brush against the tender inside of his thighs, making him shiver violently.

There’s always been some distance between them, Michele has been letting Georgij touch him more frequently and in ways other people have never done but they’ve always been fully clothed, hands searching through the other’s robes without uncovering too much, mouths teasing places the eyes weren’t allowed to see clearly. They’ve always meet under the light of the day but there’s always been a shadow between them, a safe distance that prevented Michele from revealing too much, from _losing too much control_.

But now he’s tired.

It’s painful to admit it but Christophe’s words weren’t wrong: he’s not willing to fight those feelings anymore. His strong hands traces Georgij’s spine back and forth, caressing his perfectly arched back as if he’d like to consume them under his palms. He doesn’t know why he waited so much before accepting Georgij’s invitations but he knows it aches even to imagine to move away from their white body. 

It makes him cry, the way the Waning Moon surrenders themselves to his caresses, lets his fingers exploring every curve end every notch of their body from head to toes, from the protruding vertebrae of their neck to the tender flesh of their buttocks. Georgij trusts him so much, they’ve always been incredibly open to every of his – to be honest, very timid – approaches by now and even if it seems he usually finds a way to please them even more than expected, the God of Sun is still convinced it’s his time to be more generous, to let the Waning Moon get close enough to change him, to leave a permanent mark inside him.

“Why… why don’t you take off my clothes instead of… beating around the bush…” he sighs, when Georgij sinks their canines into his collarbone and their hips between his inner thighs, deep enough to make him feel all their tension, even through the linen of his tunic.

“Are you really sure? I thought you preferred some distance”.

Georgij’s low voice sounds more than simply surprised and they even pull themselves up to look straight into Michele’s amethyst eyes: they both shiver at the sudden break of bodily contact and the God of Sun’s greedy hands grasp the Waning Moon’s hips so enthusiastically, their touch leaves a scorching impression on their pale skin.

“The only thing I’m pretty sure, by now, is that I hate these clothes so much that if you don’t help me, I’ll burn them down by myself!”.

Georgij chuckles – a deep chuckle that makes him shiver again – and Michele “ _I can’t stand anything dividing us, I want to feel you closer!_ ” would like to utter but instead he lets out an impatient growl and open his arms, to allow the Waning Moon to undress him.

“You’re usually so secretive, I thought you didn’t like being watched completely naked,” Georgij jokes, while starting fumbling with the golden fibula that fastens the left shoulder strap of the God of Sun’s linen tunic.

“Well… we’re in the darkness, you won’t see very much,” Michele snorts, secretly thanking the Waning Moon for talking and keeping him distracted from the fact that he’s being undressed in the coldest and darkest place on Earth. Then he has to gulp down a loud moan, because Georgij’s fingertips are caressing him again and their thin lips are starting to draw a spiral of kisses and whispers all over his naked skin, as they uncover more and more centimetres of his torso.

“Michele… I was born in the darkness… I live in the darkness, I can see a lot more than you think!”.

Georgij smiles against the hard outline of his ribs, before blowing another light kiss, and then they start tracing their way toward the God of Sun’s belly. Their deep voice sounds highly self-satisfied, while they remember him all of their qualities, but Michele doesn’t notice it, because they add in that same, suggestive tone, “And your body’s emitting such a soft light… I can’t thank the Goddess of Luck enough for giving me this opportunity of witnessing your beauty without any veil!”.

It’s not true that Michele’s secretive about his appearance – there are other, more trivial reasons why he’s been so reluctant to let the Waning Moon watching him naked until now – and their compliments sure feed his already gigantic ego, but no one has ever praised him _that much_. There’s never been not even a of human able to adore him with the same zeal of Georgij, no one has ever had their patience and carefulness in touching every centimetre of his body, while covering him with kisses and prayers.

And then it arrives, the feeling of being submerged by the invisible touch of Georgij’s ghostly aura, something cold and gentle that wraps around his ankles and wrists like the coils of sinuous snakes, that crawl up his arms and legs. He should be afraid but the subtle shiver that shakes his spine lasts only a few seconds and leaves room for the warmth that turns his red blood into pure lava, when Georgij leaves a soft, wet kiss on the inside of his thigh.

“I… oh, fuck…” Michele curses under his breath, giving up replying to the Waning Moon’s compliments, and he impatiently caresses their head, trying to reach their square shoulders and strong arms. The more he moves, the more he gets entangled in their ghostly aura but he doesn’t even care, not while Georgij keeps teasing him, consuming his entire body with kisses and caresses on his hips and behind his knees, around his navel and on his solar plessus, where his arm meets his collarbone and on the tip of his nose but never, _never_ even brushing the place that needs his touch the most.

Then Georgij finally embraces him, white palms pressed tightly against his shoulder blades and hips that match up perfectly, and the contact is devastating for both of them: the Waning Moon knows Michele’s literally the hottest thing on Earth but being able to feel all his warmth against their skin it’s so overwhelming, it’s like he could melt them completely, bones, ligaments, nerves, until destroying their material form and reaching even the darkest core of their essence… and they would like to be annihilated, if that means being directly touched by his golden light.

The God of Sun’s even more confused and impatient, though. Georgij’s touch is not simply wrapping him in a hell of conflicting feelings, it’s literally stripping him of his sanity, leaving his whole being gasping for air. He has to desperately hold onto the Waning Moon’s presence to not drown into his own burning desire, because it’s too much, because their fading, silver light it’s the only foothold he can find, while trying to remember how to think, how to _breath_. The more Georgij’s fingertips mark every inch of his feverish body, the more each one of his nerves burns even more painfully but only the consoling coldness of their touch can partially relieve his ache: it’s a slippery slope without a valid solution… or maybe not.

Maybe… 

“Geor… Georgij… why… don’t… we…” Michele’s words transform themselves into a contorted bundle of vowels, as Georgij’s body sticks very close to his. He can feel _everything_ and there are not even his clothes to shield him from the devastating feeling of moist skin against moist skin, of Georgij’s erection grinding against his with so enthusiastically, he can only wrap his legs around their hips and go along with their moves.

It’s only when the Waning Moon breaks their kiss to let both of them catch their breath that Michele takes back control long enough to grab their face and, “Georgij, listen!” almost screams.

The Waning Moon jumps, pausing immediately with a concerned look on their face: did they do something wrong? Were they too daring? The God of Sun notices their expression and shakes his head, as if Georgij has just voiced their doubts, and quickly utters, “Why don’t we… try something different… like… something more enthralling… I don’t know… _something deeper_ ”.

It’s a bitter irony that the God of Art himself can’t find the right words to express his most visceral desires, even if they’re right inside his mind, in a dark place that not even his blinding light can illuminate. But Georgij is just a few inches away from his face and looks at his confused expression, trying to fill the gaps of Michele’s really hermetic communication.

“My dear,” they whisper, gently touching the knuckles of Michele’s right hand with their lips, “do you mean you... want to come inside me?.

“No!”.

Michele’s embarrassment is a flash in the darkness of the cave, that boils down to the bright red that appears on his cheeks. How Georgij can go from whispering hieratic verses to his address to being so forward it’s still a mystery for the God of Sun but at least they broke the ice… and he wasn’t honest with his answer.

“I mean, one day… _why not_ … but this time I mean more… ugh… the other way around,” Michele fumbles, Georgij’s body still pressed tightly against his giving him the most pleasing chills of his life. It’s hard to gulp down all that self-consciousness but the Waning Moon smiles and there’s something both soft and suggestive in the way they look at him, before replying.

“Ah. And here I was, thinking you’d like to be more dominant!”.

“You think too much!”.

Michele tries to show all his outrage but he ends up smiling softly, while Georgij’s long, white fingers start brushing his cheeks, following the line of his jaw.

“Well, sure… I would be a liar if I said I didn’t dream for this moment to come but… are you sure?” the Waning Moon whispers their concern over his olive skin and Michele closes his eyes, briefly enjoying the shivers that this soft touches send down his spine, before replying in an equally low and caring whisper.

“Right now I’m not sure of anything but… Mmh… it’s honestly starting to hurt feeling you… uh… how can I put it?”.

The God of Art is again at a loss of words and he starts to feel really frustrated at his own inability to coherently explain what’s smouldering in the middle of his chest but the Deity of the Witchcraft is again at his side, to offer him rhymes like a generous muse.

“Too distant? Do you want to feel more my presence? Do you want to feel more my presence inside of you, even if I could taint you with my darkness?”.

Georgij’s words are like a chanting, soft and measured, they lull Michele, while he savours the cold caress of the Waning Moon’s fingertips against his skin, on the tip of his nose, along the curled-up line of his full lips.

“I don’t think you… can taint me… at least not in a negative way,” Michele starts slurring, his palms roaming freely across Georgij’s wide back, while the Waning Moon’s fingers plays with his mouth, barely trespassing his slightly opened lips.

“Well, in this case… I can’t wait to be engulfed by your warmth, _my dear_ ,” Georgij suggestively whispers, forehead pressed against Michele’s one until their warm breaths are mixing together. The God of Sun lets their fingertips brushing the tip of his tongue, before two phalanges slowly enter the moist warmth of his mouth and he doesn’t have the strength to feel embarrassed anymore. He’s only eager and pleased, when he starts to softly suck Georgij’s fingers – two, at first, then three – tickling the knuckles with the tip of his tongue, and the Waning Moon lets out a satisfied hiss.

“And… you know… darkness won’t taint you in any case… we all came from the Night’s womb… don’t you like to remember those times?”.

Georgij’s voice is slow and moist, like the trail of kisses they’re leaving across his naked torso, slowly descending toward his waist line without a single shred of hesitation. Michele could reply to them but he’s too busy feeling their lips tracing the muscles of his stomach and then playing with the outline of his navel. He slightly bites their fingers, instead, before licking them even more enthusiastically and only then he finally release them.

“I don’t like to remember… a moment in which I had no consciousness at all… and I’m quite afraid of losing it again… if I loosen up too much… ah…”.

The God of Sun doesn’t know why but the more pleasure he feels, the more he becomes talkative about things he’s not prone to confess easily but Georgij doesn’t seem to be bothered. They caress him, their moist fingers lightly tickling his large back, and then they kiss him again, right between his legs… and this time they don’t devote themselves to his inner thighs alone.

“But losing control doesn’t mean losing your consciousness, my dear…” Georgij whispers softly, before placing a wet kiss with their mouth slightly open on his really sensible skin and Michele moans, _loudly_. He wonders if he really wants to engage in this conversation or let the Waning Moon stuffing their mouth with something else than words…

“You’ll feel everything and your consciousness will be still there when…”. 

One, two, three phalanges… one’s of Georgij’s fingers is inside him, forcing his tensed muscles to relax, and Michele’s already out of breath, shivering in anticipation for what the Waning Moon will soon do and say to him.

“… I will be one with you… and don’t forget that in any case… I will be here with you… to hold you and guide you, if you’ll be afraid of losing yourself…” another finger slowly starts to violate him, while the Waning Moon’s free hand is gripping his erection tightly, their fingertips rubbing his hot and tensed skin, making him melting under their palm.

“Well… but what if… you lose yourself too… and…” Michele’s voice is a coarse groan, a cluster of vowels and consonants more than an intelligible sentence, while two thin and gentle fingers sink even more inside him and he wonders if it will be so bad to leave their material bodies behind and fusing into each oth… and, _damn it!_ ,  Georgij’s tongue is all over his erection, covering him in saliva and warm breaths and every doubt almost vanishes like snow in his light.

Yes, inhabiting those flesh bodies amplifies the pain but so happens for pleasure, too.

“I’ve done it before… I won’t lose myself… and I won’t let you do it…”.

There’s a hidden “trust me” that the Waning Moon puts on hold but Michele somehow understands it, even between the kisses, fingers thrusting deeper and deeper and that warm mouth that suddenly envelops him completely in the exact moment one fingertip teases him in the right place.

It’s a complete blackout of his mind, for a moment the God of Sun is blind right behind his half-closed eyelids, then, “Can you… put an end to… like… the foreplay and… oh, Mother Earth… _please_ … proceed to do you-know-what?!” he curses in a breathless scream, grabbing the Waning Moon by the back of their neck in a desperate attempt to draw their attention.

The God of Sun burns against their palate and Georgij would like to taste him more and suck every ounce of warmth out of his body but they stop, letting Michele’s greedy hands caressing and squeezing their back while they slowly lift themselves, their fingers still inside him.

Every touch of Michele leaves a scorching mark on their white skin, there’s not a single part of his body that doesn’t burn and Georgij finds themselves so hungry and eager, they can’t help but licking and kissing every part of his body they can reach, until they finally sink their teeth into the base of his neck.

They feel the God of Sun hissing and embracing their waist more tightly, pressing ribs against ribs, muscles against muscles, until they can’t find anymore the line that separates their bodies from one another. “If that’s what you want, my dear…” Georgij barely whispers, wet lips pressed against his ear, and Michele can only articulate a breathless, “Yes…”completely exhausted by the anticipation.

And then Georgij’s fingers are loosening him up even more, they can already taste the warmth that’s waiting for them but they still take their time. Michele is so sensitive, by now, he almost jumps when he feels the tip of their erection working their way between their fingertips but their ghostly aura is always around him, caressing him, slowly submerging him, making him forget about the pain of that new intrusion.

The God of Sun is literally surrounding Georgij, his nails dug deeper into their shoulder blades, his inner thighs barely brushing their hip bones, his muscles tightening as they push deeper inside him. He’s not simply hot, his warmth is delightfully suffocating and the Waning Moon swears they could die happy, if that means melting in his flesh, with his rough breath against their ear, almost deafening them.

Michele doesn’t know what he expected before this moment but he’s sure it’s quite different from what he imagined, when he put together pieces from what he already knew and what others – a lot of others –told him. It’s quite different from having only their fingers sliding inside him, too, and it’s more painful and more pleasing than he thought, it’s a whole different level of involvement.

The God of Sun doesn’t know if he’s more aroused or overwhelmed, if he wants Georgij to stay still or become rougher, he can only press his cheek against their temple – so fresh, so moist, so soft compared with the tensed bundle of sizzling nerves that’s his body right now – and rubbing against their taut stomach, in search of a relief that’s too distant, right now.

“How do you feel?”.

Georgij’s deep voice comes out from a completely different dimension, Michele can’t even fully understand their voice, only the fact that the Waning Moon is now still, completely stuck inside him from the base to the tip, cold and scorching at the same time, filling him as if they were not a single entity. He’s confused and speechless, even if his brain is embroidering myriad verses to describe those feelings, and he can only caress their back – trying as best as he can to apologise for all the red scratches that will interrupt the white perfection of the Waning Moon’s skin.

Georgij feels him trembling – something that makes them shiver when they’re still buried deep inside him – and they caress his cheek, ready to repeat the question, when Michele’s hands reaches his nape and he searches their lips to kiss them. It doesn’t matter if they still taste of him, he wants only to feel their breath against his cheek and their tongue violating his mouth again and again, leaving him breathless and reminding him he’s not dreaming, the Waning Moon is still there, upon him, inside him, ready to wake him up if he’d give in to the darkness too much.

“I don’t know how I… but please… _continue,_ ” Michele begs them in between their steamy kisses, eyes half-closed and a trembling voice altered by the anticipation. His fingers are roaming across Georgij’s face, brushing their cheeks and their wet lips, briefly interrupting their contacts only to show them how big is his impatience.

And Georgij can’t disobey, not while every touch of Michele makes their blood boil and their heart sing; not while they’re breaths are mixing together as much as the heartbeats that echo in each other’s ribcage; not while their white palms press his thighs even closer to their hips and their so intertwined – legs, arms, protruding bones, moist flesh and tightened muscles – that the Waning Moon can’t remember how the world felt before being engulfed in the God of Sun’s heat.

More than thrusting, Georgij starts sliding inside him, wet and slow, and Michele can only try to follow the rhythm of their movements, making sure the Waning Moon doesn’t move away too much but it’s difficult and he’s too slow… and then Georgij’s palms are squeezing tightly his buttocks, spreading him even more and guiding his hips and Michele’s mind goes blank.

He can’t think, he can’t move by himself, he can’t even remember how to breathe properly. He’s completely pliable under Georgij’s gentle fingers, like they can handle his light and bent it in any shape they want and it’s a shape _he likes_. And Georgij can sense it: the way Michele’s slowly abandoning himself in their arms; his scorching fingers following the line of their spine and then sinking into their hips, pushing them closer and closer; his breath becoming erratic and his body surrendering to their presence more and more at every new thrust.

The silence starts to be filled with their ragged breath and their moans – Georgij’s ones are lower, Michele’s voice seems to prefer the high-pitched notes every time he can break their kisses to catch his breath – and the Waning Moon starts to doubt they can last any longer. It’s _too much_ even for them, Michele’s consuming them with every touch and his amethyst eyes still find their deep, blue gaze even under half-closed eyelids. They’ve never been so close, Georgij can sense his thoughts and they’re a contorted spiral of burning desires and love.

Michele wants Georgij and he’s so greedy and desperate, he doesn’t know how to get closer to them, but every single of his movements is honest enough to show to the Waning Moon the exact extent of his feelings. He’s squeezing them so much, it’s difficult for Georgij to move freely and they even fear they’re not reciprocating his efforts in the best way: they thrust, again, trying to get deeper and deeper, deep enough to fuse with him; deep enough to reach the most hidden part of the God of Sun and doesn’t leave him anymore.

Then Michele bites his lower lip, making it bleed, and, “I don’t think… I can keep going… for much…” he whisper, he almost _begs_ and Georgij kisses him lightly, moans with him when a deeper thrust makes them both jump. Their foreheads are pressed together, when Michele opens his eyes again and that deep blue that has haunted his dreams for so long is the only thing he can clearly see.

“Come for me, then…” he hears Georgij say from a long distance but the hand that wraps his erection tightly, well… He feels it clearly and it makes him beg even more, because they’re finally giving him all the attention he needs. He’d like to say something but in the end he can only move, frantically rocking his hips between their palm and their groin, while Georgij follows each of his moves with a rapt expression. There’s so much love and adoration in their look, Michele doesn’t know what to do to top all that love.

He can only obey to their gentle order. He can only drown, without a single fear, in the sea of whispers and cold touches that’s surrounding him. The world behind his eyelids becomes a pitch black meadow, where nothing else exist except for a little, silver light… Georgij can finally touch him, as deep as they can, they can finally share with them that darkness the God of Sun has eschewed until now. There’s nothing else around the two Deities that matters anymore, the only things that Michele can still recognise in his clouded state are their ghostly whispers, their rapid thrust making his muscles sore and overloading his already exhausted nerves, their fingers driving him nearer and nearer the abyss.

And then everything it’s finally too much and Michele can’t stand the pressure anymore, he has to release himself, face buried into the Waning Moon’s tensed neck and nails stuck into their lower back, and he has to drag them down with him. The God of Sun moans echo through their eardrums, he’s hot and impetuous, when he stains their palm and stomach, and he’s irresistible when he locks them in his embrace. Georgij doesn’t think anymore, they act and the only thing they can do is sinking deeper and surrendering, until melting in the suffocating warmth that surrounds them in a single, low whisper.

They don’t know for how long they both remain silent, when it’s the exact instant they remember to breathe regularly again, ribs clashing against ribs every time they inhale, comforting darkness protecting them as their bodies try to adjust themselves to the plethora of feelings that have just overwhelmed them both. Michele doesn’t even open his eyes, for the first time in eons enjoying the darkness behind his eyelids, instead of fearing it.

“Michele…”.

Georgij doesn’t really call him by his name. Their fingers – long, pale, always colder than his skin – weave his name on his cheek with a single, soft brush. Then it arrives, the feeling of their ribcage and the heartbeat inside of it, resonating into his chest in unison with his own; their hipbones against the tender flesh of his inner thighs; the Waning Moon, still buried inside him, more like a pleasing presence than an intruder.  Those sensations are like little sparks in the shadows of the unconsciousness he’s hiding in… Georgij is keeping their promise, they’re still there, the moment the God of Sun feels tempted to surrender and blend in with the darkness.

“Georgij?” he finally exhales and the first thing he sees are two deep blue, sparkling eyes looking at him in the silver-lighted darkness of the cave. They smile, still caressing his face, and Michele imitates their kind gestures, running his warm fingers through his short, dark hair, pulling their head closer, until their foreheads touch each other.

“How do you feel?”.

“Tired… kind of… still a bit confused… but good… yes… I definitely feel quite good…”.

Their words are slurred, their voices still low and hoarse and their moves are slow, because he’s very careful not to break that fragile tension that’s keep on going on between them.

“And you were so good… I would honestly stay like this forever, if I could… you’re so warm, _my dear,_ ” Georgij whispers, adoration in their tone, care in their gaze, and Michele’s mouth twists in an embarrassed smile.

“Do as you please, I… I like to feel you closer, too…” he finally admits, softly hissing when the Waning Moon moves, still inside him, embracing him tightly. They exchange lazy kisses and interlace their fingers, while their breaths unconsciously synchronise and their bodies start to coexist as two different entities again – arm, legs, sore muscles, tired nerves – until Georgij, still kissing him, still adoring every inch of his body, slowly pulls out.

For the first time in his long existence Michele feels suddenly empty, deprived of a consoling shadow that lulls his light like a primordial nest, but Georgij doesn’t move away. They simply lie with him, rolling on their side while looking at the God of Sun as if he were a miracle they didn’t deserve to have beside them… what a stupid thought.

He yawns, a sudden wave of tiredness taking over his body, and he feels ashamed for it. He’s the one that doesn’t deserve to be loved so much, since he can’t even stay awake after all that happened: he should sit down and precisely list all the reason why he feels so lucky to have met the Waning Moon.

“You’re tired, you should rest… let your mind float in the Realm of Dreams,” Georgij’s gentle voice reaches his eardrums, while their fingers lazily caress his ribs and stomach.

“But you’re still awake… it would be _rude_ ,” Michele tries to protest, suddenly self-conscious at the idea of leaving Georgij alone, while he sleeps without a care in the world, but the Waning Moon smiles at him – and, he swears, in the darkness their smile looks exactly like a sickle of moon – and shakes their head.

“You need it and I like the idea of guarding your slumber… only if it doesn’t bother you, obviously…”.

Michele’s proud of himself enough to feel honoured at the idea of being watched in his sleep with such an adoration but he’s also wise enough not to say it out loud – it would sound quite ridiculous.

“Well, if it doesn’t bother _you_ …” he ends up saying. The next move is something he wouldn’t have done during their previous meetings: he rolls on his side, he surrounds their waist with his arms, he leans closely to his chest, searching for their warmth and smell. He needs it, he needs to feel his material presence under his fingertips, or else he will feel empty again.

“It would be a pleasure”.

Georgij’s palms are on his back again, the Waning Moon can feel his temple pressed lightly against his chest and that scene almost makes them cry. They can embrace the God of Sun and hold his light in their hands, without fearing that he will slip away, maybe afraid of or even disgusted by their presence. Georgij has already fallen in love multiple times in their long life and every time they have always loved their partner like they were the only one, believing that was the only and true love, ignoring their flaws and convincing themselves that everything would be alright and perfect.

This time things are different: they can’t ignore the God of Sun’s flaws – they’re scorching and brilliant like his beautiful light – and they can’t pretend everything is fine because they’re in love. They have doubts and every new meeting forces both of them to discover new sides of themselves, sides that were previously deep in the shadow or too illuminated to be looked at directly.

And that’s what makes Georgij feel sure that this love will last longer and change them more than they can imagine, even with their godly powers.

For Michele things are both easier and more difficult.

He has never loved someone else before, not in that way. He has never allowed anyone to get close enough to touch him, let alone confusing with him until he couldn’t even recognise anymore what belonged to his body and what not. It’s all new for the God of Sun, both exciting and confusing, feelings flurrying in his mind, threatening to make him lose his control… but there is Georgij’s heartbeat at less than an inch from his hear, and it’s steady and low, comforting him like something old that comes out from an almost forgotten past but still gives him peace.

It’s something so new and unpredictable, not even his Eyesight can help him very much understand it better. He tries to spy in their future, while closing his eyes and letting his limbs enjoy the numbness of sleep, but what he sees are innumerable paths, full of surprises, arguments, dark spots and path so illuminated they’re blinding.

… but in every one of them there’s Georgij, so, that’s a good thing, uh? Michele gives up on getting another glimpse of whatever is waiting for them and sighs softly, while the Waning Moon’s long fingers caress his closed eyelids: this time the idea of surrounding himself to darkness doesn’t make him afraid, not really. He even starts to search for verses, weaving together words he grabs like golden threads in the darkness of his sleepy mind.

The Sun has a lot of things to confess to the Waning Moon and he wants to get sure to convey his feelings properly, when he’ll be finally awake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...   
> This fic ends here BUT not my fics about Georgij and Michele. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. My next project will be in Italian (I need to complete a WIP about these two dorks) and then I will write in English again: an Otalerovich, first, and then another Crispovich. This time a _very long longfic_. In YOI!verse. Stay tuned and thanks again for reading my fic, bye~


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